


“Who do they think we are – the Brothers Grimm?!”

by Wandererzaehler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Dark, Destiel - Freeform, Feelings, Fluff, Human Castiel, Missing Scene, Multi, Regrets, Salt And Burn, Sickfic, Tags will be added, Vampires, Vision - Freeform, all seasons included, ghost - Freeform, new update each day of April
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 18:55:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 32,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10519791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandererzaehler/pseuds/Wandererzaehler
Summary: *Chapter 30: 'Together'. Dean and Cas end up where Dean didn't expect them to ever go.A collection of one-shots for Supernatural; with a new update every day all throughout April. Hope you enjoy!





	1. Not sharing a room... for once.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural or any characters of this show. This is only meant to entertain myself and others. 

_**Characters** : Dean, Sam_

_**Season:** Season 1._

* * *

 

It was obvious Dean was still pissed from the way he slammed the Motel-room door into his brother's face when they arrived back after their unsuccessful search through police files.

Sam raised his hand to knock on the door but decided that no, he was entitled to the right of having his own room. He was 22 years old after all and had lived on his own for quite some time. Now that he was back in the game didn't mean he and Dean had to keep sharing a room like they did when they were little.

“It's cheaper for one...”, Dean had tried to argue while they were waiting at the Motel's counter to check in.

Sam had snorted in annoyance: “Yeah, Dean, it's not like we really have a limited income.”

“Told you before credit card fraud isn't done that easily!”

“I should know since you don't seem to do any work since I'm back...”

It had gotten pretty ugly after that, the simple issue of not sharing a room for once developing into a full-blown argument which included some shouting, a lot of ignoring each other and, finally, Dean slamming the door to his single-bed room into his brother's face.

Sam knew he'd won, but somehow it didn't really feel that way. He stepped into his own room – vis-a-vis Dean's – and closed the door with a sigh.

* * *

 

Dean threw his duffel bag onto the bed and flopped down after it with a dissatisfied grunt. As soon as he'd slammed the door behind him he'd known he wasn't really angry at Sam, he was angry with himself.

His brother did have a point.

It was as easy to fall back into the way things had been before Sam left, as it was for Dean to push away the thought that Sam had had his own life before. That he'd have gotten used to the idea of having left his old life behind. That maybe he needed some space, especially after losing Jess.

Still, not sharing a room felt like disobeying Dad's number one rule: _Watch out for Sammy._  
Knowing full well he'd never go to sleep worrying for Sam's safety – especially after their recent encounter with the Shtriga – Dean pulled out his revolver and checked whether it was loaded.

* * *

 

Sam lay on his bed with eyes wide open, staring into the dark. He felt tired and worn out and could shake neither the thought of his argument with Dean nor keep his mind from straying to the grizzly events which had brought them here.

Turning to his other side, he pushed the blanket away feeling uncomfortably warm. After only a few minutes and without getting the least bit drowsier, he pulled the blanket back over himself.

There was a soft noise from outside that had him sitting up in bed abruptly, searching for his gun under the pillow. Pulling it out with slightly shaking fingers, he stood up as quietly as he could and tiptoed over to the door.

Leaning his head against it, he listened intently, waiting for the sound to repeat itself... which it did after a minute or so. Sam grabbed his gun tighter and, mentally counting up to three, he ripped open the door.

In the dim light of the hall were a few moments of utter confusion until Sam made out a familiar voice: “Get that gun out of my face!”

“Dean? What are you doing...”

Noticing the crumpled pillow and blanket on the floor, Sam shut up, uncertain how to react. Dean merely shrugged, though it was obvious he was both irritated and embarrassed since it wasn't hard to figure out he'd slept in the drafty hallway until now.

“I'm just here to make sure you're on your watch”, Dean said after a moment and, picking up his sheet and pillow he made for his own room, “and obviously you do, so let's call it a night.”

Sam gave in.

“Look, man, I guess... Let's just say this not sharing a room was a one time thing, agreed?”

“Agreed”, Dean said and winked.

It was obvious from the way he closed the door to his room that at least for now their argument was over and done with.


	2. Unfamiliar

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural – and if I did, it'd be much less amazing since I'd have all the work and no fun.

**_Characters:_** _Dean, Castiel_  
_**Inspired by:**_ _Season 4, Episode 6: 'Yellow Fever'_  
_**Spoilers for:**_ _What happens between season 3 and 4._  
_**Season:**_ _Early into season 4._  
**_Additional tags:_** _Destiel; Nightmares_

_**A/N:** I guess nightmare-scenarios tend to crop up whenever I'm writing. They're annoyingly angsty stuff everyone can relate to. // Also so much for never writing anything even remotely Destiel. Like, ever._

* * *

 

**Unfamiliar**

The first time it happens Castiel is slightly confused. He hears Dean calling for him in distress and feels the urgent need to make sure his friend is all right. Upon answering the call however, he quickly discovers that Dean is asleep on his bed, apparently not within any immediate danger whatsoever.

Castiel considers waking him but decides otherwise and returns back home even though the sight of Dean tossing and turning in his sleep upsets him more than he cares to admit to himself.

Some days pass in which Castiel his busy obeying commands without seeing either of the Winchesters. Then, at night, he hears Dean calling for him again. This time it is obvious Dean is in pain; squirming in bed as if he was badly hurt with his face contorted. When the angel is just about to wake the hunter up, Sam on the adjoining bed opens his eyes and hurries over to his brother, shaking him and calling his name.

Castiel decides that Dean doesn't need his help right now and leaves without making his presence known.

The angel who has never experienced sleep and therefore has no idea what nightmares feel like is quickly convinced that they are both painful and terrifying. Even though Castiel admittedly isn't the best judge of human behaviour he can tell that Dean is exhausted and irritated from lack of sleep.

He starts to listen intently for Dean's voice calling out for him. When he finally does hear it, he immediately sets out to help.

Dean is writhing on the bed, drops of sweat on his brow, clutching the blanket so fiercely his knuckles appear white in the dimly lit room. The bed next to him is empty; Sam has gone out.

Kneeling down beside the bed, Castiel lays his hand on Dean's forehead. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on what Dean is seeing in his dreams. Though the images are blurry, Castiel makes out enough to realise that though many of the images are of Sam being hurt or snippets of Dean's experiences in hell, there are also surprisingly many of Castiel himself in some sort of danger or – these make him jump involuntarily since he's never seen himself like that – showing his power on full display.

Apparently these nightmares aren't all about imaginary things, Castiel muses.

When Dean groans, he concentrates and slowly pulls away the images from Dean's mind. He's unsure whether he is even allowed to do this kind of thing, but finds that he's not particularly interested to find out the answer.

Dean exhales shakily and Castiel can see the tension leave his body gradually as he relaxes. As he takes away his hand from Dean's forehead (surprised at how it is shaking slightly), he bumps into the night-stand and Dean's eyes flicker and open.

“Cas?”, he asks sleepily, his voice hoarse.

At the unfamiliar abbreviation of his name Castiel is taken aback for a second before he says: “This is a dream. Everything is all right.”

“Okay”, Dean mumbles, closes his eyes again and rolls over to his other side.

He wonders when Dean has started to refer to him as 'Cas' while he flaps his wings and leaves.

Later, Cas catches himself smiling widely and finds that he isn't able to stop again.


	3. Buttons

_**Disclaimer** : I don't own the characters or the show – a fact you are all very aware of._

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean_   
_**Inspired** **by** : watching clips from season 10._   
_**Season** : season 11, early on_

_**A/N** : This is what I came up with after two hours of hard work and three different stories that just didn't want to work out... - I'm not happy with this one but as it is already quite late, there's no time for anything else today... Sigh._

* * *

**Buttons**

A hunter's wedding was a rare occasion which usually involved a lot of drinking, swearing and generally not very wedding-ceremony-like things. Since this was a wedding with both bride and groom being hunters who had been together for years, it was even more extreme than that... - that is until the youngest daughter of the couple vanished.

Sam and Dean, who had joined in the search along most of the other hunters present, offered to have a look at the cars in the parking lot and were now searching beside, between and even under the many cars which had been parked all over the place. As most hunters were used to only lock away their weapon stashes in the cars but not to secure the doors, Dean was careful to have a look inside the cars as well.

Finding the girl in his own Impala was a surprise nonetheless.

“At least you've got good taste”, he murmured and bent down to pick up the child gently.

He was extra careful now when he was around children. Even with the Mark gone, he often searched himself for any signs that the pull downward emitted by it might still be there somewhere inside him. He was terrified of the thought that he might hurt people again, especially kids.

The girl opened her eyes and looked up at him with wide, dark-brown eyes and a thoughtful look in her face. The sight somehow drove away his anxiety and he felt himself relax.

“Hi”, Dean said and gave her his most charming smile, “we'll bring you back to your Mom, okay?”

Her face creased into a smile and she nodded, then snuggled closer to Dean, and began to toy with one of the buttons on his black jacket, now apparently engaged to her hearts content.

He couldn't help but grin down at the tiny hands twisting the button this way and that.

When Dean looked up, he saw Sam leaning against one of the cars watching him intently with a barely hidden smile of amusement on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing... - You just look absolutely adorable together.”

“Shut up, Sammy”, Dean retorted and rolled his eyes.

They walked back together in silence, the girl humming an unmelodious tune. Just as Sam asked: “Don't you ever feel we're missing out on something?”, the button became loose with a last twist and the girl delightedly threw it away and began working on the next one with renewed determination.

“Not really”, Dean said and chuckled – though both he and Sam knew better.


	4. Freak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N1: This is definitely not going to be only this one shot. There'll be a companion... - because this isn't really helping me to get over the damned call in the season 4 finale.
> 
> A/N2: I'm pretty sure Dean hasn't got a flask yet in that season. But that's creative process.

_**Disclaimer** : If Supernatural belonged to me, this fic wouldn't exist since I'd have dealt with this scene years ago._

_**Characters** : Sam_   
_**Inspired** **by** : Season 4, Episode 22: 'Lucifer Rising'_   
_**(slight)** **Spoilers** **for** : Season 4, Episode 22: 'Lucifer Rising'_   
_**Season** : 5; AU_   
_**Additional** **tags** : Angst, unprocessed feelings, dark; AU_   
_**Warnings** : Alcohol, self-hatred_

* * *

**Freak**

Dean only took the time to throw his stuff on one of the motel-room beds before he left again without telling his brother where he was going.

Sam knew anyway. It was because Dean couldn't stand to be in the same room with him.

With the bloodsucking freak.

Sam took another sip out of Dean's flask. He'd found it in one pocket of the crumpled jacket Dean had left behind on the bed, though by now Sam couldn't remember any more why he'd been going through Dean's pockets at all. Probably looking for something meant to kill him.

Sam savoured the feeling of how the liquor burned down his throat and left a numb feeling behind.

He knew now Dean had been right from the beginning and he, Sam, the naive little brother, had put his trust in the wrong people.

Though in his case, it hadn't even really been real people.

Another sip. Now that he'd had a go at the flask, Dean probably needed a new one.

In the first few moments after waking up, Sam could still remember how things used to be before everything went wrong. Then came the memories of the past few months and the feelings he remembered slipped away from him immediately and were replaced by thoughts much darker.

Dean and he barely spoke a word to each other any more, and Sam wasn't even sure why Dean kept him around. It surely wasn't because he used to be his brother once.

_There's no going back._

Dean might have broken the first seal – but killing Lilith had been Sam's decision. Everything that happened afterwards was his fault and his alone.

_You're a monster, Sam. I'm done trying to save you._

Sam threw the empty flask against the wall with as much force as he could muster and then buried his face in his hands.


	5. On the other side

_**Disclaimer** : I don't own any of the characters or the show itself. Only the words describing are mine._

_**Characters** : Dean, John, Chuck_   
_**Inspired** **by** : a note in my notebook saying 'alleyways' – though those have gotten lost in the end._   
_**Spoilers** **for** : S02x22; S5x16; 11x20_   
_**Season** : 1, 2, 5_   
_**Additional** **tags** : in-between/after-scenes_

_**A/N:** I liked these a lot – maybe I'll come up with some more drabbles with this topic. Just couldn't think of any more today._

* * *

 

**On the other side**

**I.**  
Dean was hiding in the shadows of a house entrance, watching the door of the bar. He waited for Sam to come back out again.

His brother Sam, whom he hadn't seen or spoken to in what felt like eternity.

Sam had entered the bar with a girl in a nurse costume and, though he was in plain clothes – he'd disliked Halloween for as long as Dean could remember and really, no one could blame him after what they'd seen – the two looked... like they belonged together. Close.

He hadn't even known Sam had a girlfriend.

Snuffling, Dean turned up the collar of his jacket against the cold and leant back against the wall opposite the bar. He knew Sam wasn't much of a drinker, but the girl had looked like she had a high tolerance for alcohol. Maybe he should barge in later and request Sammy to buy him a beer... Sighing, Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Until he could have a quiet word with his brother to convince him to help find Dad, he'd just wait out here and make sure no one got to Sam.

* * *

**II.**  
John was waiting. He wasn't sure what his sons were up to now, but he'd heard rumours. Demons tend to be quite talkative when you know which buttons to press, and in his search for the yellow-eyed demon he'd learned a lot. It would be wrong to say he was waiting patiently, but he was definitely waiting.

Waiting for the Gate to open.

In order to open it, the Devil's trap protecting the Gate would have to be broken and that meant trouble; and his boys would be where trouble was thickest.

He hadn't been the best father to them, but maybe he'd get one last chance to make sure they were alright.

John Winchester wasn't done with the yellow-eyed demon yet, and he needed to make sure his sons would come out of the battle unscathed.

* * *

**III.**  
People always make false assertions about what it is like to be God, only one of which concerned His ability to be omnipresent. Among other things it was wearying, especially when what you witness isn't what you want to happen.

He stood outside the door underneath the tree in front of the motel, but He was also inside the room with Sam and Dean, listening intently to what they said.

He winced at the sound the amulet made when it hit the wastebasket's bottom.

Of course He'd already known this was going to happen – another 'amazing' ability of His – but experiencing it felt worse than He had expected.

He waited until Sam and Dean were far out of sight before He entered the room and picked up the amulet.

He'd need it someday in the future to prove a point and fulfill a quest.


	6. Second Chances

_**Disclaimer** : Neither the characters nor the show are in any way my property. This is only for entertainment purposes and because re-watching old episodes makes me sad._

_**Characters** : Bobby, Ellen; Sam, Dean, Jo_   
_**Inspired** **by** : 6.17 'My heart will go on'_   
_**Season** : prior season 1_   
_**Additional** **tags** : Parallel universe, meeting for the first time_   
_**Warnings** : mentions character death_

_**A/N:** I've adjusted the kids ages since the age difference would make these scenes improbable. // This shot is set in the universe which Balthazar created by saving the Titanic. It's how Bobby and Ellen first meet._

* * *

**Second Chances**

Bobby leant back his head and held his face into the last rays of sunshine. It was Saturday evening and already quite late for Sam to be still up (not that John was likely to put Sam to bed at regular times), but the boys had been so fit to burst with energy he hadn't had the heart yet to put his foot down and sent them to bed. Instead, he had ushered them out of his house and brought them to the next playground to loose their energy and hopefully get tired sooner or later.

Judging from the way Dean was whooping in excitement while sliding down the slide it would yet take a while.

Bobby squinted towards the slide and saw Sam sitting in the sandbox next to it, watching his brother climb the ladder for another run. His high, childish laugh made Bobby sad.

He hadn't been surprised when John had showed up at his doorstep asking him to watch the boys for the weekend since he and his partner were off for a hunt. The weekend had turned into a full week by now, but Bobby, who had been quite content with his lone life before, missed Sam and Dean the moment they were out of sight. He was also constantly worried for them – neither one was likely to have an even remotely normal childhood. John was raising them into this, into being hunters. He wasn't giving them any chance at a normal life.

Bobby felt no father should do that.

A woman with a little girl in pigtails arrived at the playground and, after releasing the girl from her hand, she slowly walked over to Bobby. He realised he was sitting on the only bench available and scooted over to give her some room. She nodded her thanks and sat down.

Bobby noticed she looked tired and worn-out, her face pale as death.

While he continued to stare at her, she said: “Your son just pulled my daughters hair.”

He didn't bother correct her and, after glancing over at the children where the girl had just hit Dean squarely in the face, shrugged: “Looks like she gives as good as she got.”

“She does that”, the woman said with maternal pride and a tiny ghost of a smile flickered around the corner of her mouth. Then her face became expressionless again.

Bobby figured she was done talking to him and wondered whether he was supposed to go and stop the children from wrangling, but when he looked at the slide, both Dean and the girl had sat down next to Sam, heaping up great mounds of sand around the four-year-old. Bobby was pretty sure they were building a house and playing family – children were so easily ready to give second chances.

As adorable as this scene was, it made Bobby's heart ache.

To distract himself he looked back at the woman and was startled to see she was silently crying.

Bobby knew he wasn't good with tears and even worse with women and hesitated for a second before he searched his pocket for tissues. He kept them with him to stop Sam from feeling the need to wipe his nose with his shirt when it was running. Which it tended to do a lot, coming to think of it.

He offered the tissues to the woman who took one and noisily blew her noise.

“I'm sorry”, she said afterwards, “I'm not usually like this. It's just...” She focused her eyes on her daughter's laughing face, “...Jo's dad just died and I haven't figured out how to tell her yet.”

Bobby swallowed and forced himself to look away from her: “I'm sorry to hear that.”

The woman nodded, crumpling the tissue in her hands: “He was on a... trip with a friend and something went wrong. I don't know any details yet. I'm waiting for them... - his friend to come back and explain what has happened.”

The mounds of sand by now looked more like a castle than a simple house and while Dean was busy shovelling more sand onto the mounds making it bigger, the girl – Jo – was already decorating it with flowers she'd picked somewhere.

“They've already been gone far longer than expected. Jo's a smart girl, she'll ask questions soon and I'm a terrible liar, but...”

“You wanted her to stay a child just a little time longer”, Bobby guessed and she nodded. Feeling the sudden urge to tell her he understood what she felt, he blurted out: “I've lost my wife years ago.”

The woman looked up at him and snivelled: “Does it get easier?”

Bobby considered the question for a few moments before he shook his head. “You learn living with it, though”, he added. “Talking helps.”

She nodded and almost smiled at him, accepting another tissue.

“I'm Ellen, by the way”, she said after a while and offered him his hand.

He took it and squeezed it gently: “Bobby.”

They sat in silence until the sun had well gone down and the sandcastle had been built to unbelievable heights, with the children hidden behind the mounds, only their voices hinting that they were still there, giggling and laughing as they played their game.

Being children for just a little while longer.


	7. Afterwards

_**Disclaimer** : I don't own the characters, but the scene is mine._

_**Characters** : Castiel, Dean_   
_**Additional** **tags** : Destiel_

_**A/N:** The things you come up with when you declare: 'Today I'll only write a Destiel-drabble of exactly 100 words'. I'm not apologizing, though._

* * *

**Afterwards**

Cas pondered over the question why this had felt so very different from when he'd been with April. Sure there had been some... differences on physical levels, but that wasn't it. It had meant more this time. This time it'd been unexpected, too, but it was something he had desired for a long time and, until now, had never admitted he wanted to himself.  
He hadn't thought the feelings were mutual.  
He hadn't dared believe them to be mutual.

He'd retreated to the edge of the bed and sat there, feet on the floor, blanket loosely draped around him. Originally he had planned to leave afterwards because he had felt the need to process things, but now he found he wasn't able to look away from Dean. The hunter was sprawled out all over the bed, smiling lightly in his sleep.

Cas couldn't help but wonder if maybe he was dreaming about him.

It must be nice to just close your eyes and fall asleep, Castiel thought, especially when being perfectly happy and exhausted at the same time.

He felt his skin tingling all over.

Thinking about what they had shared, Cas felt himself blush violently while at the same time he wasn't able to hold back the smile. He wouldn't change a thing about last night even if he could.

Dean shuffled closer to him in his sleep and Cas could see goosebumps forming on his arms.

Deciding that he was not going to leave anyway, he took the blanket from around his shoulders and spread it out over Dean before crawling back under the covers as close to him as possible. Feeling tired, he closed his eyes and felt like all his anxieties were washed away.

Castiel felt this was the right place for him to be.

* * *

 

Dean woke up gradually feeling both warm and comfortable.  
The events of the last night came back to him slowly.

He could feel the bruises on his face from the hunt that had gone on before everything else, and the more exquisite pain lower down that told him he hadn't only dreamed this. Not this time, anyway.

The feeling of someone hugging him from behind was unexpected, though, and he had to look down to make sure he wasn't imagining it.

Somehow Dean had expected Cas to bolt immediately afterwards, but obviously he hadn't.

A question was nagging on Dean and, despite feeling nauseous about asking it at all, he blurted out: “Cas?”

There was no answer apart from the even breathing he could feel on his neck.

Dean turned around carefully only to find Castiel was deeply asleep. His jet black hair was tousled and there was a bruise blooming just underneath his collarbone that he hadn't taken the time to heal up.

He looked gorgeous.

Dean felt a familiar fluttering in his stomach and decided that the question if this had been a one time thing or something else entirely could wait until morning.

Watching Castiel sleep peacefully was enough for the time being.


	8. Faulty Spell

_**Disclaimer** : I own neither the characters nor the show, though this month both are certainly taking up a lot of my time._

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean, Castiel_   
_**Spoilers** **for** : Season 9_   
_**Season** : Sometime in Season 9_   
_**Additional** **tags** : sickfic_

* * *

 

**Faulty Spell**

Before Castiel even had the chance to knock on the bunker's door, it swung open inwards in what at first seemed its own accord. Then Sam appeared in the frame, grabbed Cas' sleeve and pulled him inside and down the stairs; barely taking time to lock the door.

“Sam?”, Cas asked confused, “How are you, I mean Dean called... - What is it?”

Sam turned back to look at Cas. His face was pale and there were deep shadows under his eyes as he said, voice shaking: “It's Dean. I think he's dying.”

* * *

 

_48 hours earlier_

“Yeah. I hear you man, it's just... - Maybe Jody Mills can help you instead. I'll give you her number; she's good people. Yeah. Bye.”

Dean put the cellphone down on the table and sat down with a sigh.

“Anything important?”

Dean turned around at the sound of Sam's voice, which had become even more hoarse over night. The cold which had been bugging Sam for the last week didn't seem to get any better.

“Nothing to worry about, Jody can cover this one. - You look like crap.”

“Thanks.” Sam slumped down opposite Dean and pulled one of the books on the table closer.

“You should really go back to bed.”

“But we've got so much work to do”, Sam objected and indicated the pile of books on the table. Then he sneezed violently and while he blew his nose noisily, Dean snorted: “And here I was thinking you're the sensible one. Go to bed, Sammy, get some rest.”

“But - “

“But me no buts. Bed. Now.”

* * *

 

Dean had dug into the lore set out on the table for the best part of the day, only stopping for a short lunch in the kitchen.  
When he looked in at Sam's on his way to bed, his brother was asleep. Dean, worn out by too much reading of appalling accounts, went to his own room without attempting to wake him up, leaving a bottle of water and a cup of tea on his nightstand.

Only in the morning, when he'd dressed and breakfasted without any sign of Sam having been up at all, he began to get worried and went to have another look at his brother.

Five minutes later, he was out in the hallway again on his phone: “It's me, Cas. You need to come here as soon as you can: Sam is very sick.”

Standing in the hallway for a moment, Dean tried not to panic. It was just a cold was all. Sam had lived through worse... - but after all that had been going on the past few months, especially with Gadreel possessing him, Dean was more worried than he had been in a long time. He was used to cuts and gunshot wounds, but Sam, even as a kid, had been sick so rarely he didn't know quite what to do.

Hopefully Cas held his promise to ditch everything and come straight away.

* * *

 

Sam constantly got worse, his temperature only rising. Dean could hear his breathing was getting even more laboured with an unsettling rattling in addition. He made sure the blankets covered him, even when Sam tried feebly to push them away, and sat by his bed anxiously. When he wasn't able to sit still anymore, he began walking up and down the room, checking his phone for new messages from Cas every few minutes.

He should've made Sam stay home when they headed out the week before to gank that werewolf. Sam had already had a cough for a few days then, and maybe he'd also had a fever. Dean was no expert of illnesses, but he knew you needed rest when you had a fever or things only got really bad really fast.

At noon Dean noticed Sam had developed a rash. This was like a drop in the bucket – Dean was done waiting for Cas to make it here. He'd read something some time ago which might come in handy now.

After all, maybe Sam hadn't yet completely recovered from the trials. Maybe Gadreel had lied or tricked them once again; maybe Cas had been mistaken in believing Sam to be fully healed.

Dean wasn't taking any chances.

* * *

 

Sam woke up and quickly realised he was feeling great. The aching sensation he'd had when breathing in was gone and so had his headache and the weariness.

Carefully sitting up in bed he waited for a moment before standing up to make sure he wouldn't suddenly get dizzy. He didn't.

A chair stood close to the bed so he assumed Dean had been sitting with him, which made him wonder where his brother had gone off to. Sam was used to Dean staying with him when he was ill, even though when noticed he kept pretending he'd only been 'in for a moment'.

Checking the time Sam began wondering whether his sudden recovery had been Cas' doing.

He left his room in search for the Angel and his brother – the latter of whom he almost tripped over in the Library.

* * *

 

_Now_

“This is really bad. How long has he been like this?”

“Ever since I found him”, San had a quick look at his watch, “four hours ago.”

Dean way lying in the Library, shivering with cold, his face ashen, his breathing coming quick and erratic. Sam had covered him with blankets but hadn't dared to move him much.

When he'd discovered the spell book it'd been clear as day his sudden recovery had been Dean's doing, but at a cost.

“Has he been conscious?”

“Once and only barely, soon after I'd found him. I think he was hallucinating then, and soon after I could get no response from him at all. It's getting worse.”

Dean whimpered weakly when Cas touched his forehead.

“I need to see the spell he used.”

Sam wordlessly handed over a book in worn leather. Cas' brow furrowed even more while he read through the various ingredients and incantations displayed on the side, muttering: “He should've known better than to try this.”  
Looking up at Sam he asked: “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine, I guess, all the symptoms gone.”

“Humph. I'm not sure how he managed to do that. This spell shouldn't even work.”

Dean muttered unintelligible words and Sam asked worriedly: “Can you help him, Cas?”

The Angel nodded and knelt down next to Dean; looking up at Sam he said: “This might take a while.”

* * *

 

Some time later, Cas sat with Sam while the hunter hungrily ate dinner.  
Dean joined them, a blanket around his shoulders. He was still pale and looked worn out, but Cas had said he was sure the last of his symptoms would fade away soon.

Dean looked at the burgers and turned even paler.

“Your appetite will come back”, Cas assured him, “... eventually.”

“Serves you right”, Sam said indignantly, “for pulling this stunt.”

Dean pulled the blanket tighter around him and sat down next to Cas, pushing the rest of the packaged food away from him. “A simple thanks would have sufficed.”

“For trying to kill yourself?”

“I was trying to help, Sam.”

“I know, but that doesn't make it right.”

The brothers glowered at each other in fury.

Cas stood up abruptly and gestured towards the kitchen: “I'll leave you to it then.” Turning around once more, he gestured towards the book lying on the table and added: “I've had a look at these spells. Don't use them again – they're dangerous at best and most of them are faulty as well.”

Sam waited till Cas was out of sight before he asked: “How could you be so stupid? I wasn't dying, Dean, I had the flu.”

“Looked a bit worse than that.”

“I've lived through worse.”

Dean snorted.

“You overreacted and very nearly got yourself killed in the process. You can call yourself lucky Cas was able to heal you to this extent. You could've... You've died for my sake already, Dean – don't do it again!”

Dean opened his mouth to object but had a coughing fit instead.

Sam waited for Dean to stop coughing and then looked him straight in the eyes: “I'm okay, Dean. Stop worrying about me all the time.”

“As if I ever could”, Dean blurted out hoarsely, looking down.

Sam sighed: “Me neither. Maybe I'd have done the same thing... - though not over a case of flu. Just... don't scare me like that again, alright?”

Dean nodded. “We finished talking feelings?”  
He managed a grin and then yawned.

Sam nodded: “Go to bed, Dean. Get some rest.”

“But - “

Sam grinned and retorted: “But me no buts. Bed. Now.”


	9. One Job

_**Disclaimer** : I own neither the show nor the characters and in this shot, I don't even made up all the words myself._

_**Characters** : Mary Winchester_   
_**Inspired** **by** : Episodes 1x1; 2x22; 4x03; Season 12 (various episodes)_   
_**Spoilers** **for** : Season 12_   
_**Season** : Season 12_

_**A/N:** Sorry for updating this late (or early, really, depending on where you're from), I couldn't manage any sooner. Had to write fast as well, hence the short chapter._

* * *

 

**One Job**

There were many things Mary Winchester thought about over the first days after her resurrection.

She wondered why she was back, for starters, but her thoughts always went back home, back to Kansas. Back to John and her two boys – boys that had grown up without a mother, raised into a life she had never wanted them to have.  
She had failed at protecting her family, naively believing there was a chance of a normal life for her.

Among all the terrifying things that happened that night, among the feeling of loss and desperation, there was one thing Mary would never forgive herself not to have done.

Feeling tired and worn out after having watched the children the whole day long, she had merely given Dean a quick good night kiss on his forehead and left, tasking John to tuck him in.

There were going to be so many more nights to put her boys to bed, so what was this one time she'd go to bed at a reasonable time.

If she could take one thing back, make just one thing undone that happened that night, it would be this. The yellow-eyed demon would have gotten Sam one way or another – this was a personal thing, after all – but putting Dean to bed had been... - she'd had one job, and she'd blown it.

There was no way she could ever make up for this.


	10. Back where they belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Bobby is driving by his burning home, he considers an idea he's never given much thought...

_**Disclaimer** : This is the tenth time this month I have to tell you – I don't own Supernatural... sadly._

_**Characters** : Bobby_  
_**Inspired** **by** : 7.02 'Hello, Cruel World'_  
_**Spoilers** **for** : 7.02_  
_**Season** : 7_

_**A/N:** This amazing moment when it's 5:03 am and you already know what today’s chapter will be about but you still have to wait till the evening to have the time to note things down._

* * *

 

**Back where they belong**

Bobby smelled the smoke long before he saw what was burning, but as soon as he felt like he was tasting smoke on his tongue, he had a pretty good idea what was going on. It had been coming a long time now – actually he was a bit surprised it didn't just happen before.  
There was a reason only very few hunters had just one base of operation, and Bobby's was fairly well-known.

Still, seeing his house burning down to ashes was worse than he'd imagined. It was, after all, the house he had lived in with Karen, the very house in which he had lost her; the house in which he'd read far too much obscure lore; the house to which various hunters always came back to for help; the house filled with so many things most people would think of as meaningless.  
They'd had meaning for him.

It'd been home.

The timing was too perfect to ever believe this to be an accident. Aside from that, the fact that there was not a single firefighter anywhere in sight was telling enough... - Maybe the Leviathans hadn't only taken over this one hospital but some other important public organizations as well.  
He had to hand it to them, latching onto those that would help them cover up their tracks was smart. They learned alarmingly fast.

Turning around immediately was Bobby's first instinct, but his mind reasoned that surely they were waiting for someone to do that. They must be somewhere around, trying to single him and the Winchesters out, waiting and watching ever so patiently.

His house wasn't dangerously close to the road, and the cars before him merely slowed down so that their occupants could have a good look at the brightly burning building.

Bobby snorted in anger and gritted his teeth: Well, since these weren't their memories burning to the ground, they of course felt it was their place and their chance to have a very good look at someone else's misery.

So instead of doing what his instincts told him, Bobby mimicked what the other drivers were doing and had one last look at his home, driving past the smouldering building slowly with guts clenching.

He suddenly remembered all the photo albums in the attic he couldn't look at anymore and this made him all the more furious – he'd lost enough, hadn't he? He had had more than his fair share of grief.

While Bobby accelerated again, tears of helpless fury and loss making the road in front of him appear blurry, an idea came to his mind that he had never seriously considered before: This might be his best chance to get out; quit hunting for the rest of his life. He could fake his death by manipulating official records, dropping off the radar and leave everything behind him.

He began planning it all out: He'd have to get a new name, but he'd been faking credit cards, IDs and badges more times than he cared to remember, so no problem there. He was a fast learner and willing to do hard work so getting an inconspicuous job shouldn't prove that much of an obstacle either. He doubted he'd earn much money, but maybe he'd be able to purchase an old house after some time, using his remaining years to fix it up, getting comfortable. Until then, he'd have to steer clear of any of his safe houses to make sure he didn't come across any hunters.

Bobby was sure he could make it work.

Then a car sped past him way too fast and all his daydreams became meaningless. He couldn't see into the Impala's front window and hadn't had a good look at the licence plate either, but he knew that damn car. He'd only just helped Dean rebuilt it.

While Bobby drove on, his hands clutching the steering wheel tightly, he began swearing furiously – even he hadn't been so dumb as to walk straight into this trap and get caught by the Leviathans – then again, they must believe him to be in the house since he'd told them to meet back there and regroup. He glanced over at the passenger seat where a pile of books was swaying dangerously from one side to the other. If he hadn't taken the time to skim through them after he'd had an idea he didn't want to leave unchecked till home (useless, of course, since that would have been too easy by far) and made a quick stop on the road... – If the situation was reversed, he wouldn't hesitate the fraction of a second.

So much for his made-up plans concerning his future life. A grim smile played around the corners of his mouth. It wouldn't work any way: Sam and Dean were far too smart to be fooled by faked records, and those two would never give up on him as long as there was the slightest chance he might still be out there.

Hell, if anyone could find him when he didn't want them to, it would be those men.

Bobby had made a decision ages ago about Dean and Sam Winchester – he would look out for these Idjits for as long as he was alive and breathing. He needed them just as much as they needed him.

He could never leave them behind.

When he finally decided it was safe to stop he first checked his phone. There was one new voice mail from Dean, asking in a frantic, panicked voice: _“Now you said you'd be here. Where are you?”_

With a lump in his throat forming due to the emotion in Dean's voice, Bobby slipped the phone back in his pocket hoping the Leviathans weren't yet able to hack phones and track GPS, turned round the car and began driving back.

“I'm coming. I promise. I'll find you – and when I have, I'll sent those sons of bitches back to purgatory where they belong – every last one of them!”


	11. Poetic License

_**Disclaimer** : If I did own Supernatural, I guess there'd be much less dialogue and more hugging. Dialogues are hard. Hugs aren't... - except for ones on Supernatural: But as I don't own the characters or the show that's not my fault._

_**Characters** : Dean, Charlie_

_**A/N:** I swear I planned this to be fluff... mission failed. Again, not apologizing._

* * *

 

**Poetic Licence**

Dean shuts the bathroom door and walks back to his room, groggily raking his fingers through his hair but stops as he notices light shining out under the door to the guest room.  
He wonders whether Charlie forgot to switch off the lights before going to bed.  
Dean enters the room quietly, first checking the bed, which is empty, before noticing Charlie is sitting at the desk, a sleek notebook in front of her. Her fingers are moving over the keys in a mesmerizing, steady rhythm. She's so immersed in her task she doesn't notice him come closer.

Dean stoops and tries to get a look at what she's writing, but before he can, she notices him and utters a stifled squeak. She jumps and turns around fast, her fists raised in defence before she recognizes her unbidden intruder: “Dean! Jeez! You almost startled me to death. Can't you knock?”

“It's three in the morning”, he grumbles and yawns, “You should be fast asleep. What' you doing?”

Charlie glances back at her notebook and closes its lid hurriedly: “Nothing... - I'm finished now, anyway. You're absolutely right, let's both go to bed.”

She stands, but the way she's suddenly blushing crimson red only serves to pique Dean's interest:  
“Sit”, he orders her, gently pushing her back down on the chair, “What were you doing before I interrupted you?”

“Just writing something.”

“Writing a code writing or writing a letter writing?”

“More like writing a story”, she says and blushes even more. Redheads, Dean thinks and grins, so easy to crack.

“What kind of story?”

“Oh, it's nothing really. I'm just playing around with a few ideas.”

“Great – you won't mind me taking a look, then?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Dean grins and shakes his head.

Having Charlie staying here while her leg is healing up is quite nice – granted, she's not the best at baking pie, but she is definitely making an effort, and she's good at research as well; never mind the fact she is always in a good mood and really nice to have around.

Charlie sighs and opens her notebook, typing in her password before she moves her chair to the side a bit so Dean, who's sat down on the bed, can have a look at what she's written.

At the very first sentence, his eyebrows rise up, and as he continues to read, his brow begins to furrow. He scrolls down and continues reading till the end before he looks back at her, shaking his head.

“Why would you write stuff like this?”

“People like it”, she defends herself, “and it helps me to unwind.”

The hint of a tired smile twitches at the corners of her mouth: “I don't sleep very well ever since...” She gestures towards her leg, which is set in a cast and Dean swallows – if he and Sam had arrived earlier when Charlie had called them, the shifter wouldn't have had the time to hurt her.

Noticing his discomfort, Charlie suddenly grins at him, laying her hand on his arm and squeezing gently: “It's okay, I'll heal.”

Dean gives her half a smile before quickly looking away again so she can't see his eyes which, as he knows, far too easily give away his feelings. Taking a deep, calming breath he asks: “People really like this... this...”

Charlie beams and offers: “Fan Fiction, you mean? Well, even before the unpublished works went live, the Fandom was still going strong, and now that they have, there are lots of new fans... Yes, people enjoy reading these.”

Dean, eyeing again what she's written so far, shakes his head in disbelief: “But that is so not what our usual routine looks like.”

Charlie laughs: “I know.”

“Then why do you write it down like this? We hunted down the werewolf almost a month ago, the haunted house was even before that; and I have no idea anymore when we went after that Rugaru. No hunter could gank these monsters within 24 hours, even when not counting the hours spent in a car to get to two different states!”

Charlie only shrugs: “That's poetic license.”

“What about research?”

“That's what people – or rather characters – like me are for. You write in a quick call and all research is done without interrupting the flow of the story.”

Dean snorts and continues to rant: “Regroup? Refuel? The long, boring hours you spent following vamps to their nests, stalking the habits of monsters? The crappy motel rooms? Getting something to eat on the road? And honestly, how could anyone ever believe that Sam could go hunting a werewolf with half his arm severed away? Apart from the fact that even I can't stitch up a wound like that. That's what hospitals are for.”

Now it's Charlies turn to frown: “Why are you getting so angry about this?”

“We're not immortal, Charlie! You know Sam and I aren't just some characters in a story... If you have to write this stuff, why can't you at least make it real?”

“No one”, Charlie answers, stressing each word, “wants to read about real life. Especially not that of a hunter – far too short and depressing.”

“That's exactly the point. You make it sound like it's a Sunday stroll along a beach when really it's all about staying alive for another day and saving people's lives!”

Charlie stares at Dean, fighting down her own fury since she feels he has a point.

Dean closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands, taking a calming breath.

“I'm sorry”, he says after a while, “really.”

She squeezes his arm again and tries to make him understand: “I know by now how dangerous a hunter's life can really be, and I'm okay with it – but that doesn't mean I can deal with all things like you and Sam do by drinking and not talking to each other, or exercising. Especially that last one right now.” She non too gently prods the plaster.  
“I have to do this my own way, and writing helps clearing my head, and writing about two characters very much like but not really you gives me at least the feeling of some distance.”

He watches her wringing her hands as she gropes for words. When she just shakes her head in defiance, he mumbles: “Sam's arm wasn't 'nearly severed' when we came back from hunting the Rugaru.”

“When you helped him down the stairs I thought it was.” Charlie's voice is tight with tears. “It's not that easy, you know, watching the two of you go out like that.”

“Charlie –“

“I know”, she interrupts him, “why you do it, and you saved many people by doing so, but... Just... Promise me you'll be careful.”

Dean suddenly finds it difficult to swallow as he nods.

Charlie snivels and smiles again: “Come on now, give me a hug. No one's here to see it.”

Dean pulls her close, giving her a kiss on the forehead, silently renewing the promise he's just made even more fiercely.

A little while later, he helps her onto the bed, leaving the crutches by the nightstand so she can easily reach them.

Before he switches off the lights, he says in a stern voice: “This conversation is not for all the Internet to read, understood?”

Charlie only giggles and disappears underneath her covers, and Dean can't help but smile as he gently closes the door.

Having Charlie staying at the bunker just feels right.


	12. Breaking down the barrier

_**Disclaimer** : Nope, last time I checked I still didn't own Supernatural._

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean_   
_**Inspired** **by** : 4.22: 'Lucifer Rising'_   
_**Season** : Season 5, after Episode 1_

_**A/N** : Once upon a time (almost three hours ago now) this wasn't just the one, but two separate shots, neither of which I could write an ending to._

* * *

 

**Breaking down the barrier**

Closing the Impala's door, the bag with burgers and pie in his left hand, Dean took a deep breath before entering the motel to brace himself for another evening of not-talking with his estranged brother.

Then he walked in.  
The guy at the reception only barely raised his eyes from the comic he was reading to give him a short, disinterested nod before resuming his reading. Dean walked up the stairs and pulled the key from his pocket before stopping abruptly.

The door to their room was slightly ajar and he could see someone moving through the crack who surely wasn't his brother. He felt the hairs on his neck and arm stand on end.

He shouldn't have left Sam alone, especially in this strange new mood he was in that made him keep his feelings close to his chest, to drink beyond normal Sam-level and generally be a reckless, stupid idiot.  
He shouldn't have left him when they both knew this werewolf was extra smart: He’d discovered they were after him long before they had so much as started to investigate.

Dean hurriedly stepped back, set down the bag with groceries on the floor as quietly as humanely possible and pulled his gun out of his waistband with trembling fingers.

He kicked open the door.

The figure, which had been crouching over his brother – who wasn't moving – turned around with a snarl just as Dean aimed and shot multiple times until the clip was empty.

Even though he knew he'd hit the thing, it managed to make a run for the window and jumped right out, shattering the glass on its way, howling like mad.

Dean didn't really care though since Sam was down on the ground, unconscious. Dean dropped to his knees at his brother's side. Sam was breathing and there were no wounds as far as he could see, so Dean allowed himself a moment to think and felt relief washing over him.

His brother was alive, nothing else really mattered.

He heard the boy from downstairs yelling something – probably for someone to help; or maybe he was on the phone already, telling the cops someone had fired a gun in his crappy Motel, so Dean knew they had to get out fast. But when he slipped his arm under his brother's upper body to at least get him into a sitting position for starters, his hand came back sticky with blood, resulting in a bad case of déjà vu.

Quickly checking, he saw that Sam's shirt was torn over his right shoulderblade where the werewolf's claw had hit him, but there was no sign of any bites, thank god. The flow of blood was disconcerting, though: Dean needed to get his brother away from town and patched up double quick.

Sam groaned some unintelligible words as he slowly came to and Dean, taking as much of his weight as possible, supported him out of the room.

“Come on, Sam, we need to get out of here.”

* * *

 

“Why are you even doing this?”, Sam asked through clenched teeth while Dean was busy checking the gaping wound on Sam's back.

“What are you talking about? - That's going to hurt.”

“You made it pretty clear you're done helping me when you – ouch!” Sam couldn't help but cry out as Dean emptied a good bit of what was left of whiskey in his flask directly over the wound before handing it to Sam, who readily emptied it. The alcohol numbed both the stinging pain in his back and the aching in his heart he felt whenever Dean talked to him nowadays.

Dean chuckled mirthlessly: “I did warn you it'd hurt.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, the blood loss, the exhaustion of the last few days, or plainly Sam being fed up with always merely tripping around the truth that made him blurt out: “Why'd you help a monster like me?”

Dean paused a moment in attaching a tourniquet to stop the bleeding and furrowed his brow. As he resumed his work, he said: “This isn't about bringing on the end of the world again, is it? Because we've had this conversation already.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dean put the final touches on the bandage and sighed deeply and irritatedly before proposing: “Why don't you go ahead and try to apologize again for what happened?”

“I already did like a hundred times, and you didn't think much of these apologies.”

“Because apologies won't do much good in taking everything back. I told you there's nothing you can do to make it all go away again.”

“Because I'm a monster and past saving.” Sam felt the words slip out of his mouth before he could hold them back: “Guess you should have killed me when you still had the chance to prevent all this.”

Dean, who had been kneeling behind his brother, rose and walked around him, leaning against the Imapala's hood with arms crossed before his chest: “I'd call you many things, Sam, but never a monster.”

Sam unblinkingly stared at him for a few seconds and then threw his head back, rocking with helpless laughter. Dean felt his skin crawl – the misplaced sound was eerie and lost. Maybe, if he hadn't been so angry at Sam right now, Dean would've felt sorry for him.

As Sam slowly calmed down he managed to say, in-between sudden bursts of hysterical giggles: “You already called me a monster, Dean, don't you remember?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about”, Dean said and maybe, if Sam hadn't been so tired and hurt, he'd have believed him to be honest.

“You left me a voice-mail when I was en route to kill Lilith. You know, I had my doubts if I was doing the right thing, but you yourself made me do all this.” He quoted from memory: “ _'Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.'_ ”

Dean stared at Sam with wide eyes while Sam felt himself grinning maniacally while he tried fighting down his feelings: “So now you do remember, don't you? Hard to forget when you said things like this to your own brother. You might think I chose a demon over you, but I'd never, _ever_ give up on you. I always had your back – so why couldn't you?”

Dean knelt down in front of Sam, intently looking him straight in the eyes, trying to assure his brother he was telling the absolute truth this time: “Listen to me, Sam. I would never talk to you like that, you must know that.”

“I heard it, Dean, with my own ears. In a freaking voice-mail, man! You didn't even have the stomach to say it to my face.”

Sam's fury made him feel stronger as he slowly got up and turned around, walking away from the Impala, intent on ignoring the searing pain in his back: “I won't bother you anymore!”, he called back over his shoulder.

Meanwhile, realization dawned on Dean's face as he finally made sense of what Zachariah had told him in the angelic green room.

A few steps more and Sam felt his legs giving way. He would've fallen flat down on his face if Dean hadn't caught him and gently helped him lay down on his side. Sam saw black dots at the edge of his vision and heard an unnatural buzzing in his ears as he desperately fought back unconsciousness.

Dean took off his jacket, folded it and laid it under Sam's head for protection against the hard concrete ground, then waited until a bit of colour flooded back to Sam's pale cheeks before he asked: “Better now?”

Sam nodded weakly, already moving to get back up again, but Dean gently pushed him back down.

“I believe you when you say you heard me say those things. But they aren't what I said that night. I called you when I was in the angels' green room and I don't know what they did to the message I left but... I don't remember the exact words, though the main thing was this... - We're family, Sam. We're brothers. And no matter how bad it gets – even if one of us just so happens to start the goddamn apocalypse – we won't stop being brothers.”

Sam exhales shakily and slowly feels the tension leave his body. He knows Dean better than he knows any other human being except for himself, and he feels Dean is telling the truth – in the end it doesn't really matter whether it was Ruby's doing or that of Zachariah to fool him into killing Lilith to break the seal by faking Dean's message.

“You believe me?”, Dean asks and the way his voice sounds tight is prove more than anything to Sam that he's telling the truth, so he slowly nods.

They shakily smile at each other, and though things are still on the mend and might be for some time still, they both feel like a barrier which had long since been standing between them has finally broken down.

“Good.” Dean offers Sam his hand and pulls his brother up while saying: “We still have a pissed off werewolf on our heels, so don't blackout on me again, you hear?”

Sam grits his teeth and nods as they slowly walk back to the Impala.

When Dean helps him onto the passenger seat, Sam asks insecurely: “So we're okay?”

“We still have to find a way to gank Lucifer”, Dean reminds him while starting the car, “but we'll figure out how to stop him.”

Sam nods and lets himself sink back into the leather of the seat.

“Mind you, I'm still pissed, though”, Dean says after a while.

Sam actually feels himself smile a real smile for the first time in forever as he nods.

“Fair enough.”


	13. Merely an idea

_**Disclaimer** : Apart from the arrangement of words, I own nothing, especially not the characters of Supernatural or the show itself. I'm merely borrowing._

_**Characters** : John, Mary_   
_**Inspired** **by** : 4.03; 5.13_   
_**Spoilers** : none_   
_**Season** : pre-series_   
_**Additional** **tags** : Mary/John_   
_**Warning** : This sounded a lot less cheesy in my head._

_**A/N:** For this shot to work, please ignore the fact that Sam and Dean are named for their maternal grandparents... - that's just because I had this idea all planned out before checking where Dean's name originated from; but since I really like my own take as well, I won't re-write it._

* * *

 

**Merely an idea**

John sighed and grimaced as he retorted: “'Dean' is definitely out of the question. – If you don't like Ryan either, what about Adam?”

Mary merely raised her left eyebrow at John's suggestion and he chuckled: “Maybe not then. What about Matthew? Or Michael maybe?”

His wife shook her head fiercely as she said: “I don't like the sound of 'Michael'. It sounds... I'm not sure, mischievous maybe.”

“Really? I always thought Michael was for very nice, obedient boys who tidy their rooms without being told.”

Mary giggled: “Boys like this only exist in your head.”

John climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over them: “You are right, of course, I guess a Michael would be a bore anyway.”

Mary huddled against him and he placed a gentle kiss on her hair.

“I don't think we'll need a boy's name anyway.”

Mary bent her head to look up at him with a curious expression: “You think it'll be a girl?”

John shrugged: “I hope so.”

“You'd rather have a girl than a boy?”

“Something wrong with that?”

Mary shook her head: “I just didn't expect that. We've never really talked about it.”

“Would you rather we had a son?”

Mary blushed and slowly nodded before laughing: “I just hope he doesn't inherit your ears.”

“What is wrong with my ears?”, John asked, acting indignantly.

Mary winked at him and dodged his question: “So what do you think about Erin?”

Now it was John's turn to shake his head with vigour.

Mary had to choke her laughter before suggesting half-seriously: “How about we make a bet on the child's sex and the winner chooses his or hers name.”

John snorted: “We still have enough time to find names we both like for either sex – but we should definitely keep this an option.”

Laughing, Mary nodded and John turned off the lights.

After a little while in which John held his wife as they lay in the dark, Mary asked: “If it is a boy, will you be disappointed?”

“Would you be if its a girl?”, John whispered and Mary shook her head against his chest. “Me neither.”

* * *

 

Six months later, John knew he'd told Mary the truth that night: Their child was perfect, and it didn't bother him in the least it was a boy after all. After Mary had given him this amazing present he was ready to give him the name she'd chosen; and the very moment the nurse had carefully handed over the small bundle so he could look at the child for the first time he knew the name fitted this new human being well – even though he still thought it sounded a bit alien. But well – so was this child.

John gently caressed the baby's cheek and as if on cue Dean Winchester's eyes opened to stare back at his father with unbelievably wide, blue eyes. John knew that the colour might change later, but for now Dean had Mary's eyes exactly – and suddenly John didn't think the child so alien anymore.

This screaming bundle was his son... - And John loved him even more than he had when Dean was merely an idea, months ago, when he and Mary were discussing baby names and everything had still felt like nothing more than a dream soon to come true.


	14. Nightmare

_**Disclaimer** : Neither the characters nor the show are in any way my property._

_**Characters** : Dean, Sam_   
_**Inspired** **by** : Sam having nightmares, a one-word-prompt saying 'something' and of course 'No Rest for the Wicked'._   
_**Spoilers** **for** : Season 3, Episode 16_   
_**Season** : Season 1, after 1.12_   
_**Additional** **tags** : nightmare, visions_

_**A/N:** This was originally supposed to be set in early Season 4 – but somehow this suited me better after all. Coming up with something new every day is a lot of work, especially when you've had to handle other important stuff that day, too._

* * *

 

**Nightmare**

Sam woke up in the middle of the night with his heart racing. He was sweating and felt like he couldn't breathe in the hot air of the room, so he stumbled over to the window, barely avoiding to trip over one of the discarded bags on the floor of the motel room.  
Sam tore open the window and sucked in the cold, fresh air while he was trying to calm down, brushing his hair out of his face with both hands.

Suddenly light flooded the room.

“Sam?”

He jerked and swung around, ready for a fight.

“Woah – it's just me, Sammy!”

Sam leant back against the window sill, inhaling and exhaling shakily as his mind pierced things together slowly.

Meanwhile Dean had taken one quick look at his brother to make sure he wasn't hurt and then padded to the bathroom, filling a glass with water.

He handed the glass to Sam, who emptied it in one giant gulp. Dean noticed his fingers were still shaking.

“What was it this time?”, he asked in genuine concern.

Sam shook his head: “Can't remember.”

Dean snorted in disbelief: “As if. I can't remember a single time that you woke up from a nightmare and couldn't tell me what it was about.”

Sam fingered the glass so nervously Dean took it away from him for fear he might let it fall from his grasp and went back to his bed to sit down.

“So, tell me. What did you dream of? Come on, I've dealt with your nightmares before. It can't be that bad.”

“Have you seen our lives lately?”

“Okay, granted. But really, we both know bottling up won't help you.”

Sam began to shiver in the cold air. He closed the window and started pacing up and down the room in anxiety.

“Sam”, Dean said, stretching the single syllable in mocking fashion in the hope to help his brother calm down and open up to him.

Sam plunked down onto his bed and Dean waited, seeing that Sam was trying to find the words to describe what he had dreamed about.

“I only remember... snippets. And feelings. That's the truth.”

“Okay?” Dean gestured for Sam to continue.

“I think... I guess we were on a hunt together. It was important. There was someone with us, but I can't remember what she looked like. Blonde, maybe? It's all blurry after that, but there was blood and... growling?”

Sam frowned and then his expression became blank as he looked up at Dean: “I think you were killed, but I could still hear you calling for me. That's what woke me up, hearing you call for me.”  
Dean got up and walked over to the table where he had set down a bottle of beer earlier that night.

Naturally it was already empty.

“Say something.”

“Was it like the dream you had of home?”

Sam shook his head fiercely: “I don't think so.” He didn't sound convinced, though, and added after a moment: “The one I had of Jenny had a very different feel to it.”

Dean humphed: “I admit that after hunting the Rawhead and everything that happened in Nebraska I'm not surprised you came up with something like this – I'm sure it's nothing. I don't intend to be killed on a hunt any time soon... but if you'll feel better about this whole thing, I promise I'll stay away from blonde women and anything that growls for the next few months, okay?”

Sam nodded and managed a smile, though he could still remember Dean yelling his name. It made his skin crawl with fear.

“Tell you what – we'll get the hell out of here and get on the road again. We've been stuck here far too long, and obviously Dad isn't here after all.”

He began stuffing his belongings in his duffel bag while Sam remained sitting on his bed, deep in thought, comparing how his dreams of Jess' death and Jenny in danger were different from this one, but he couldn't tell what exactly the difference was.

“Sam, you listening?”

Looking up, Sam saw Dean watching him with a curious expression.

“You're right, we should get out of here”, he said and got up, determined to leave the dream behind in this motel room and forget about it.

He would look out for Dean and make sure he was safe.

Before they left, Dean nudged Sam in the side with just enough strength to make it uncomfortable and winked at Sam: “Apparently you're stuck with me, Sammy. You're not getting off that easily.”

Sam rubbed his side and grinned: He wasn't sure anymore how he had ever thought it possible to leave his brother behind. If this was the price for getting out of hunting... - then the price was far too high.


	15. This one question

_**Disclaimer** : Except for the OC telling this story, I own nothing, though I'm exceedingly grateful this show exists._

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean; OC_  
_**Inspired** **by** : A prompt offered by a friend: 'Have you ever written from the point of view of someone who's met Sam and Dean?'_  
_**Additional** **tags** : salt & burn_  
_**Warnings** : swearword, I guess._

_**A/N** : Without this prompt I doubt I'd have come up with something decent today. Thanks again!! - And yes, I guess the OC is me. Sorry for that._

* * *

 

**This one question**

The shop's bell jingle as I leave the shop, taking a deep breath. The sun has already disappeared behind the horizon, but it's still warm. I look back into the book store to check if I've forgotten to switch off any of the lights. Satisfied that I haven't, I lock the door behind me and start strolling down the street towards the parking lot where I've parked my car.

I feel a sudden shudder run down my back. I've had a weird feeling the whole day long, like someone was watching me constantly, even when no customers were in the shop.  
Shrugging, I try to get rid of the unpleasant feeling by reminding myself that I'm on my way home and since its Saturday, Alex will have supper ready for me.

Reaching the parking lot, I open my bag to take out the car keys. Frowning, I rummage through the contents of my purse only to suddenly remember I've left the keys on the counter.

I really should use one set of keys instead of two, but I don't like carrying the set with the car keys – the on which I attached one of Gran's old keys as a memento of her to – around with me all the time when I'm at the shop, so I keep dumping them under the counter.

Sighing, I turn round, hoping no one has been watching me. If this hadn't happened only two days ago already, it wouldn't be quite so embarrassing.

Alex keeps mocking me it's a good thing my head is attached to my shoulders or otherwise I'd forget it somewhere next time my mind is elsewhere.

* * *

 

By now most of the shops are closed down, and apart from the light coming off the street lamps it's quite dark.

I fumble with the keys once I reach the shop and even manage to drop them once for no apparent reason. The door bell's jingling makes me jump, and I close the door with a tad bit more strength then strictly necessary.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and ponder over the question why I'm so jumpy today.  
Grabbing my car keys I'm more than ready to leave and go back home when I hear a noise from the adjoining store room.

“What the...?”, I mumble and feel my heart beating fast and hard against my rips. I did make sure no one was in the shop before I left, didn't I?

For emergencies like this, I have a baseball bat hidden underneath the counter. Alex keeps telling me a gun would act much better as a deterrent, but I can't stand the thought of something this dangerous in my shop.

While I tiptoe over to the store room, I wonder whether I should listen more to what my boyfriend says.

I push the door open with so much force it bangs against the wall and half-closes again while I feel for the light switch. Bright light floods the room.

Next thing I know, I'm on the floor with someone screeching in my ears until they ring from the loud sound.  
The baseball bat has fallen from my grip and probably rolled away since I can't see it anymore.  
I try to push the person away – she's got long greasy hair, a strangely white-ish complexion, is really thin, wearing dirty rags –, but my fingers seem to pass through my assailant, despite the fact that her body keeping me on the ground feels real enough.

Then her fingers are locked tightly around my throat and she starts choking me, cutting me off from air. Blackness begins to obscure my vision as I keep trying to grab hold of that woman.

Strangely enough, I keep thinking of Alex and the casserole he's promised me for today. He'll be so upset at me being late.

Suddenly the woman's body dissipates into nothing and as I fight for air, I feel someone pulling me upwards, shaking me non-too-gently.

“Where's the shipment of books that came in today?”, a male voice asks me. I try to answer, but my voice isn't working, so instead I point to the crate set next to the table.

“Sammy! Over here!”

The man lets go of me but as my legs give way, he grabs me once more and helps me sit down on the floor. He has something in his right hand that I identify in my dazed condition as something resembling a poker.

“That the owner?”, another man asks, Sammy, I presume, coming from the salesroom.

Instead of answering, the one holding the poker – it is one, I'm sure of it by now – gestures towards the crate.

Sammy's eyes widen: “Dean, look out!”

Dean turns around and with a vicious swing brings round the poker as well. The woman, who has appeared out of thin air behind him, screeches and disappears again.

Finally my voice is back and I croak: “What is that thing?”

“Ghost”, Dean says and I am inclined to believe him.

He pulls a big container out of the duffel bag he's carrying on his shoulder and something white starts spilling over the floor as he tilts it.

“Salt”, he says by way of explanation, like he expects me to make sense out of his actions. I nod, then blink, then stare, then try to get up and run for my life, but he forces me back down with emphasis: “This is for protection. If you value your life, _stay in the circle!”_

Sammy meanwhile has hurried over to the crate and begins unpacking the books, tossing them out one by one until the crate is empty.

“Where's the grimoire?”

“The what?”

The ghostly apparition manifests behind Sammy and before he can react, she's got him by the arm and then, as if I needed more evidence to believe she really is some kind of supernatural being, she flings Sammy across the whole room. He crashes into the opposing wall and lands in a heap.

Dean, roaring with anger, grabs the poker tighter and, with one well-aimed move, the ghost dissolves again.

“Sam? Sam!”

He hurries over to the other man, who groans as he comes to again.

With a flicker and the by now far too familiar screech, the ghost appears immediately before me and I just stare at her with my mouth wide open, too scared to scream or move. She reaches out for me, her mouth twisting up in a snarl.

“Stay put!”, Dean yells over his shoulder as he examines Sam.

The shopwindows burst, all three of them at the exact same second, spraying the salesroom with sharp splinters, some of which fly through the doorway. I rather see than feel one of the shards nick my cheek.

The burning sensation in my cheek is the last bit of proof I need to convince that this is not a nightmare induced by reading too much horror stories.

A gust of wind blows in and the grains of salt shift, breaking the circle. As the ghost grabs for me, I throw both sets of keys at her in pure reflex. Much to my surprise, the ghost dissolves again.  
That's the moment in which I suddenly realise what Sam had been asking for.

“It's on the counter!”, I yell while I hurry to resume my keys – though they are not the kind of weapon I'd have expected to work against a ghost.

Dean thrusts the poker in Sam's hand, then leaves him slumped against the wall, looking only semi-conscious.

“Show me”, he orders me and we run over to the counter. I search through the stacks of books – really need to tidy up here – and finally find the book I'm looking for. It's a small, thin leather-bound antique with obscure signs on it. I had thought of taking it home with me to have a closer look at it, but I forgot.

Dean snatches it out of my hand, empties the garbage can and throws the book in, then adds salt out of the canister, sprays it with something that smells like gasoline out of another container and drops a set of burning matches into it.

A darting flame shoots out of the garbage can.

Dean doesn't so much as wait a second before dashing back into the store-room, probably making sure Sam is alright.

The weird feeling I've had all day is suddenly gone and I feel quite certain that the ghost is gone for good.

As I stare at the flames and begin to shiver violently in shock, I'm left with this one question: _What the fuck just happened?!_


	16. Something to rely on

_**Disclaimer** : I don't own Supernatural or anything related._

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean_  
_**Spoilers** **for** : 6x19; 7x02_  
_**Season** : Sometime between 7x02 and 7x06_  
_**Additional** **tags** : vampires_  
_**Warnings** : blood, swearwords_

_**A/N:** Originally planned this to be pre-series with John, Sam and Dean. But I wasn't up to writing about John today... - only noticed after 1000 words of shot already written, sadly. Well, the things you do for a challenge. That's also why this shot is published so late._

* * *

 

**Something to rely on**

When Dean wakes up, he senses something is wrong the moment he opens his eyes and sees Sam's bed is abandoned. He vividly remembers the fight he's had with his brother only hours before, but when he came back after having a drink, Sam was still in the motel room, sleeping. Dean hadn't wanted to admit the relief he felt when he saw Sam with his head buried under the pillow. Without waking him, he crawled into his own bed, thinking they'd have to talk about things in the morning when he was sober again.

Now light filters through the window, Dean's head throbs and he can still taste the whiskey on his tongue.

“Sam?”

He searches through the motel room and the bathroom, then asks the guy at the counter if Sam has checked out. The manager merely shrugs as he says: “Went out last night, didn't come back.”

Dean gets even more worried when he realises the Impala keys have gone, along with the machete he's had stuffed in his duffel bag.

It's obvious Sam has gone hunting in the night – without back-up.

“Dammit Sammy – where are you?”

* * *

 

Not much different from Dean at the other end of town, in a derelict barn that looks one day away from collapsing, Sam Winchester blinks, his eyes only slowly adjusting to the dim light. The barn smells of moldy hay; but the smell of blood is far more prominent.

Small wonder since his shirt collar is still damp with blood from the wound in his neck.  
The vamps seem to have left him alone after draining him – not too much to kill him, but enough to make sure he was too weak to think about escaping.

Sam's feeling dizzy and nauseous but isn't sure whether that is due to loosing blood or because the vampire has knocked him out as well. He'd rather be concussed than to go into hypovolemic shock.

When Sam tries to move his hands, he's not really surprised to find he's tied to the pillar he's leaning against. The knots are tied expertly, the rope is tight. He struggles against the bound but soon realises he won't get out of them. Despite this, he's feeling exhausted and finds he has problems focussing.

If only he hadn't left without telling Dean.

If only.

* * *

 

Dean decides that panicking is maybe not his best option and feels his long-trained hunter senses kick in. He's following the normal routine: Find out what Sam is hunting. He knows that one already: They came to town in order to gank a nest of vampires carelessly dropping bodies. It almost looks that with Eve gone, they have stopped caring about staying hidden.

The only thing that has stopped the Winchesters until now is the crucial obstacle: They haven't located the vamps' hideout yet.

But since Sam has left, Dean guesses he's found a new clue or located the nest itself.

If he is any judge of Sam-behaviour and habits, his brother would have left the laptop on, the page last viewed open.

“Yes!”, Dean exclaims as he opens the laptop which is displaying a website of a construction company listing vacant buildings due for demolition. There are six of them: Not too many to check.

Dean only needs to get himself some wheels first. He grabs his back and checks whether his supply of dead man's blood is gone as well – yep – but at least his Bowie knife is still there. Maybe not his choice of weapon, a lot shorter than a machete and he'll need a lot more strength to behead a vamp with this weapon... But strength comes with anger, and that's something Dean isn't in short supply of.

He pulls the knife out of its sheath and checks if the blade is sharp. Satisfied, he puts it back in the bag and leaves the motel.

* * *

 

Sam slowly becomes aware of the fact that he must've drifted off to unconscious simply by the fact that he wakes up again. He feels too weak to open up his eyes and lets out an involuntary groan as a wave of pain washes over him.

“Oh look – he's awake”, a high-pitched voice says and Sam is sure this is the voice of a girl, but she's sounding vicious. Probably not a regular girl then but a turned one. This suspicion is confirmed as she continues, in a pleading voice: “Can I finish him off now? Please? I'm so hungry. Please, please...”

“Keep her away from him”, a male voice interrupts the mini-vamp, “We'll need him as leverage against the other hunter.”

Sam suddenly identifies the person speaking: It's the guy he and Dean met at the morgue the day before, directing them to Doctor Phillip's office.

He tries to pry his eyes open to check how many vamps are in the barn, but they still won't obey him. Although Sam is sweating, he's feeling cold.

He zooms out of the conversation developing around him and remembers the argument he's had with Dean... who knows how long ago.

Now that he thinks about their fight, he realises they both might have overreacted, resulting in an absolutely useless fight over something they had no control over.

Sam wonders if Dean by now has noticed he's missing. Maybe he's already on his way here. Hopefully he's already on his way here.

* * *

 

Dean chooses the first building at random and, for once, is in luck. He leaves the hot-wired car a safe distance away from the run-down barn described on the website and takes a short-cut through the woods. On a dirt track, he finds Baby, deserted, but obviously not raided by the vamps since the weapon stash is still complete. He stocks up on dead man's blood and takes one of the three machetes, fastening it's sheath to his hip.

Then he makes his way through the wood carefully, well-aware that though the sun is up, the vamps might very well be aware of his presence. Surely they're waiting for him.

He reaches the barn and, deciding that it will be best to come unto the vamps hard and fast, he kicks open the door and runs in, machete ready.

* * *

 

The barn appears deserted except for a motionless figure in its middle, tied to a pillar.

Though every fibre of his body wants Dean to run to his brother to make sure he's alright, his mind stays in control as he slowly circles round in search of any vamps. While he turns, he's slowly walking closer to his brother, fighting down his rage.

“Hello?”, he hears someone whisper from behind Sam's motionless form, a high, frightened voice belonging to a kid.

“Hello, can you help me please? I want to go home!”

Dean kneels down next to Sam and the small girl tied to the post behind him and cuts them both loose while warily watching his surroundings. He checks if Sam is breathing when the girl suddenly throws herself at him with a yell: “Get me out of here!”

She's squirming in his arms while clinging to his neck with ferocity coming from fear. Dean feels obliged to let the machete slipping from his grip for fear he might hurt the girl.

“Calm down”, he tries to soothe her, “I'll bring you back home to your Mom and Dad. Just let me have a look at my brother first, alright?”

The girl wails and keeps clinging to him.

Looking across her shoulder, Dean sees Sam stir and move his lips with no sound coming out.

“I'm here, Sammy. It's going to be okay”, Dean says, still trying to shake off the kid.

“She's one of them!”, Sam manages to croak in a hoarse voice, and Dean hears him, even though it's barely more than a whisper.

Dean reaches for the syringe of dead man's blood in his pocket, yanks it out and uses it on the mini-vamp. She goes slack, falling down to the ground with a thud.

Grabbing the machete he'd let go of before, Dean stands protectively over his brother, ready for a fight.

It's a creaking from above that warns him at the last possible second – he sidesteps and the vamp who'd been stalking him from above drops down next to him in a crouch.

Before she has a chance to get up, he moves the machete and with a violent swing detaches the vamp's head from her body.

Out of the shadow behind him another bloodsucker emerges, roaring in fury. Dean barely manages to bring up his weapon before the vampire crashes into him, sending him flying across the barn. Dean crashes heavily into the opposing wall and fights to keep conscious. While the vampire yanks the syringe out of the girl's neck, Dean fights to get back up again and succeeds, though the barn is swaying precariously around him. Or maybe he is the one swaying; he's not sure.

Blinking, he realizes the male vampire has swooped the girl up in his arms and his heading for the door. Dean raises the machete and follows suit. He lunges out with the blade and, mobilizing all the strength he has left, he hurls himself at the vamp. They fall down to the ground heavily; Dean's machete slipping out of his grasp as they land. The vamp unceremoniously drops the girl to the ground and lounges at Dean, reaching back to hit him. He manages to strike him once, then Dean's fingers connect with the fallen machete and he brings it up with as much force as he can. The aim is bad, but he manages to immobilize the vamp who collapses on top of him. Shoving the heavy body to one side, Dean pulls his blade out of the vampire's neck and cleanly beheads him with a second swing. He spits out blood from where he's bit his cheek when the bloodsucker hit him.

“I _hate_ vamps!”, he growls as he limps over to finish the turned girl off as well.

* * *

 

“Sammy?”

  
Sam cracks his eyes open and after a second or two, he focuses his gaze on his brother's face. Dean's left eye is swollen shut and there's a bad bruise blooming on his jaw, but apart from that he looks alive and whole and Sam breathes a sigh of relief: “So glad you're okay!”, he says.

  
Dean snorts: “Please – three vamps? Needs a bit more to finish me off. - How are you feeling?”

  
The concern in his voice makes Sam feel even worse about the fight they'd had. It's almost like he deserves to feel like crap, so he says: “Okay I guess.”

  
“About what I said back at the motel...”

  
“I shouldn't have brought up Cas”, Sam interrupts him, “I'm sorry.”

  
Dean nods, tiredly running his hand through his hair.

For a moment neither one says anything, then Dean rises abruptly: “I need pie.”

  
Already on the door, Dean turns around again and admits: “You know, I just keep expecting him to show up at the last possible second whenever a hunt goes sideways... I keep forgetting he's gone.”

  
Sam nods and gives his brother a sympathetic, though absolutely helpless smile: “So do I.”

“It's just been so... so...”, Dean searches for the appropriate words.

  
“Useless?”, Sam suggests, and Dean nods. The brothers stare at each other for a few seconds before Dean turns around again: “Anyway, pie. That at least is something I can always rely on!”


	17. Chick flick moment

_**Disclaimer** : If I did own Supernatural, writing fan fiction would be a lot less fun._

_**Characters** : Castiel, Dean_   
_**Inspired** **by** : Cas shoving Dean behind him in 7x23 to protect him from Dick Roman_   
_**Spoilers** **for** : Season 9_   
_**Season** : Season 9_   
_**Additional tags** : human Castiel; Destiel implied_   
_**Warnings** : swearwords_

_**A/N:** I'm not even surprised any more I had this planned out very differently and ended up scrapping half of the story. Apparently that's how my mind works nowadays._

* * *

 

**Chick flick moment**

Shutting off one's memories of being an angel was harder than one might imagine. Cas sometimes wasn't sure whether he was human or angel when he woke up in the morning, even though the fact that he actually woke should be a hint. But he dreamed about being an angel, his now so much smaller human brain trying to cope with the memories of centuries.

He forgot about being human especially when he was with the Winchesters; especially when being with Dean.

Cas tried to keep up appearances, not let the hunter see how much he'd changed, how much more aware of certain feelings he's become since he's lost his grace.

Getting mugged in a dark alley wasn't something Castiel had ever thought would happen to him – apart from when he was asked to meet in alleyways, he hadn't even come close to them. He didn't need to walk everywhere, he could flap his wings and go wherever he chose in a heartbeat.

Now, of course, he was confined to this body and its physical capabilities.

After he and Dean, both a bit tipsy, had left the bar, they'd wanted to take a short cut back to Baby and this was, as it turned out, a very bad idea, since the two of them suddenly found themselves being held at gun-point by an obviously very nervous mugger demanding their cash.

Since Cas wasn't an angel anymore, he couldn't safely determine whether the man might actually pull the trigger and therefore decided he was not going to take the risk of letting Dean get hurt in any way.

Moving fast, he pushed his friend behind himself to shield him from the gun with his own body. The sudden movement resulted in the mugger pulling the trigger.

For a moment Castiel thought the shot had missed him, but then searing hot pain tore through his right shoulder and arm and he let out a startled yell at the unexpected sensation.

The mugger stared at him open-mouthed, distracted enough for Dean to wrestle the pistol from his grip and knock him unconscious with a well-aimed blow.  
Maybe the man hadn't planned on firing the gun after all.

“Cas, are you alright?”

“I'm fine”, the angel said, though his heart was beating rapidly, only now registering things might have ended much worse. His knees began to shake in sudden agitation.

“You're not fine, you're bleeding!”

Cas' blue eyes stared at the hunter intently. Furrowing his brow he said: “I'm sure this is nothing serious, Dean”  
He was surprised how calm his voice sounded.

Dean wasn't so easily convinced. He asked Cas to take off his jacket and shirt and when the angel found that moving his right arm hurt too much, Dean got even more worried.  
Worried enough to actually help Cas getting out of the ruined clothes.

Dean checked the wound with slightly trembling fingers and breathed a sigh of relief: “You're right, this doesn't look too bad. Let's get you home and patched up.”

* * *

 

Dean laid the final touches on the bandage he'd fastened to Cas' shoulder before leaning back with his arms crossed, furiously staring at the former angel.

Cas, feeling very self-conscious without his shirt on, frowned at Dean's expression.

“I have the strong impression you're angry with me.”

Dean started to rant and rave: “Hell yeah I'm angry! What were you thinking, man? You could've gotten yourself killed! You should've let me handle the situation, I've been at this far longer than you have.”

“You've been mugged before then?”

Dean was taken aback for a second before answering: “Well, at least I haven't got myself shot during a mugging! - What I meant is... - I've always been human. You're so used to not giving a shit about guns and knifes you're not thinking straight. You're not superman, Cas!”

Cas flinched and looked down at the table, feeling himself blush at the bad memories Dean's words conjured up.

Dean sighed in exasperation: “Poor choice of words”, he admitted.  
“It's just – you have to stop putting everyone else before yourself when there's trouble ahead, or you'll end up dead. I don't want to see that happen.”

The unspoken word again hung between them before Cas found his voice.

“I'm sorry.”

Dean snorted: “Somehow I doubt that – it's plainly all over your face. Listen to me, you stupid featherless chicken: I know life's been rough for you lately – I can't even imagine what you've been going through, but being careless won't help you at all. You've proven your courage enough by now, so stop being an idiot!”

Cas felt increasingly uncomfortable, and in an attempt to get away from Dean, he got up and started to walk away.

Avoiding conflict had been so much easier back when he still had his wings.

Dean grabbed his left shoulder and forced him to turn around again. He stood directly in front of Cas, staring down at him with his eyes blazing in fury: “Don't _ever_ push me behind you ever again, you understand?”

“I worry for your safety, Dean.”

“That's no excuse for being this reckless!”

Dean ran a hand through his hair but didn't step back. His anger seemed to have disappeared and was replaced by something else Cas couldn't place.

“Seriously, you have to be more careful – you're just as fragile as we are now. I'm not sure what I would do if something happened to you.”

Cas felt another blush creeping in and knew that by trying to suppress it, it only got worse.  
He hated blushing. It was one of the human features he couldn't understand his father had installed in the first place – what was the point of giving away your feelings so easily?

“Castiel...”, Dean said and Cas felt his heart skip a beat – Dean only seldom used his full name.  
“I can't loose you. You are too important to me. ”

Cas tilted his head, trying to process what Dean had said. Then he ventured to say: “I can't loose you either, Dean, so I can't promise I'll stop making sure you're safe first, but for what it's worth now... I'm sorry for giving you a fright today.”

“Now that's something I actually believe you”, Dean sighed, shaking his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Suddenly becoming aware of how close they were standing, Dean stepped back and Cas couldn't help but wonder whether he could have done something to prevent his friend from doing that.  
Maybe he'd missed a cue.... but that was another thing about humanity he was going to figure out. Someday.  
Preferably soon.

“'Featherless chicken'?”, he asked in mock-seriousness.

“Cut me some slack, Cas, I was angry.”

Castiel smirked as Dean chuckled; their tender, chick flick moment gone.

* * *

 

Naturally, as time passed, there were many opportunities for them to step in-between the other and approaching danger. Sometimes they got off easy, other times they didn't, but they always dealt with the consequences together.  
They were both very well aware why they protected one another; and they had discovered a long time ago that there was no way of preventing the other to do so.


	18. After-effects

_**Disclaimer** : Still don't own Supernatural or any of the characters related to that show._

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean, Castiel_  
_**Inspired** **by** : random prompt off the internet_

_**A/N:** I seriously considered writing a bit of smut for this one... but I'm no good at that; and this was fun anyway._

* * *

 

**After-effects**

Sometimes ganking witches had its after-effects. Heck, ganking witches _always_ had an after-effect, but up to now most of them had been worse, intended to do bad even after you've rid yourself of the hexbags and their maker.

Up to now, though, Sam couldn’t really find the downside to this new curse.

Dean however wasn't as calm about the situation as Sam was.

“You still there, Sammy?”

“I'm here. And before you ask: Yes, I'm fine.”

“Do you feel...”

“What, unsteady? Like I'm going to dissolve into the air? No. I'm perfectly alright, Dean. Stop worrying.”

Dean shook his head in annoyance as he looked at the seemingly empty passenger seat: “And you're sure this will fade in a few hours?”

“Told you. I've looked it up, and all sources say the same: This particular curse will only hold for so long, and since we've dealt with the witch it should expire even sooner.”

“I hope you're right...”

Sam chuckled and said half in earnest, half in jest: “And if it doesn't wear off, I won't have to wear a fed suit anymore to have a look at crime scenes or get into a suspect's house. This curse might have it's upsides.”

Dean snorted: “As if we'd need the suits for the last one. I just don't want you to go all Susan Storm on me, alright?”

“Dude, I'm still wearing all my clothes.”

Dean glanced over to where his brother supposedly sat and complained: “That's not what _I_ was talking about. But thanks man, now I feel dirty.”

* * *

 

Three days went by without any sign that the curse on Sam was wearing off, and though he didn't tell Dean as much, the younger Winchester did begin to get worried. If only slightly, since now he could take revenge on Dean for all the pranks he'd played on him lately. All he had to do was to strategically place himself somewhere in the bunker and yell in Dean's ear (he did that only once because hell, Dean was fast with that knife, if luckily not very accurate due to Sam's invisibility), or slam doors close behind his brother, or just suddenly start talking to him, or ambushing him in his room and stealing his headphones from the nightstand when he was just reaching for them.

The possibilities were endless, and Sam had always been creative.

Dean was getting seriously pissed, and he also became somewhat wary.

One evening, when Sam passed by the bathroom door he heard Dean call out: “I'm warning you, Sam, you pervert, if you don't leave this instant I swear to god I'll just undress in front of you! I'm serious!”

Sam stood before the door, barely managing to stifle his laughter as he heard Dean ask a little while later in an insecure voice: “Sam? You still there? Sam?”

* * *

 

When a week had passed and Sam was still invisible, both Winchesters decided this had gone on long enough and Dean asked Castiel to come and help them out.

“Sam? You here?”, Dean asked and looked round the room, though by now he didn't really expect to see his brother there. When there was no answer, he shrugged. Maybe for once that invisible pest had done as he said he would and had gone to bed early.

Dean hurried upstairs and opened the bunker door for Castiel.

“Any changes?”, the angel asked as he followed Dean downstairs, but the older Winchester brother only shook his head.

They reached the bottom step and Dean turned around suddenly, pulling Castiel close to him. With one fluid movement, the ease of which was sure proof he'd done this before, he pressed his lips to Cas'. The angel responded eagerly and by pressing himself closer to Dean's body, he deepened the kiss.  
Dean let out a low moan in response.

There was a gasp from the other end of the room.

Dean broke away from Cas reluctantly, saying in a somewhat deeper voice than usual: “I swear, Sam, if you do that one more time... -”

He turned and, to his immense surprise, actually saw Sam standing in the doorway, red-faced and obviously deeply embarrassed, one hand raised as if in defiance of what he'd just witnessed: “I... um... just... - Woke up and wasn't invisible anymore, thought you might... um... wanna know. Or... maybe you're busy. I'll just...”

He pointed in the opposite direction from where Cas and Dean were standing, the latter's hands still grasping the lapels of the former's trench coat.

This was all a bit... Gross wasn't the word, but it came close.  
It was definitely unexpected.

Sam needed time to process this.

While he fled the scene, cheeks still flushed red-hot, Sam realised how lucky he'd been his invisibility didn't last any longer. A curse may have upsides, he realised, but it remained a curse nonetheless.

If he'd actually been in Dean's room again when Cas and Dean were about to... - It didn't bear thinking about.


	19. A familiar scent

**_Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the show in any way._ **

_**Characters** : Mary, Sam_   
_**Inspired** **by** : Two sentences in the Supernatural novel 'Carved in flesh' (Chapter 8): 'Trish had memories of her mom. He didn't have any of his, not a single one.'_   
_**Spoilers** **for** : everything after 11x23_   
_**Season** : 12_   
_**Additional** **tags** : birthday present_   
_**Warnings** : feelings_

_**A/N:** This was by no means intended to become this long, but I must admit I really like this one._   
_It feels like hope._

* * *

 

**A familiar scent**

When it came to Mary Winchester, there was one very obvious difference between Dean and Sam. While the former had his share of memories with his mother, had known her as a steady part of his life for four years, the latter had none. He'd been too young when she died.

So when Mary's birthday – her first one since Amara had brought her back from the dead – came around, Dean was less freaked than Sam. Well, he was, too, but on a different level. He knew for example what his mother's favourite colour was, which was one thing to go on at least, while Sam didn't even knew that before asking Dean.

So while Dean was busy thinking about what his mother would like _most_ on this special day, Sam wondered what she would like _at all_.

He wasn't very good when it came to presents, either, since all his Christmases and birthdays had been on the road. He'd had this one normal day with Amelia, when she'd surprised him with a picnic in the park, but apart from that...

The only present he'd ever gifted to someone who'd hold it dear was the necklace he'd presented Dean with once upon a time, but he knew his brother almost as well as he knew himself.

This was different.

In-between hunts, Sam would wander the shops in town, would look at things he liked, but doubted they would mean much to his mother.

In usual circumstances, the first present of a child to his mum wouldn't be this important: But Sam was a grown man, and he wanted to do it right.

He _needed_ to do it right.

* * *

 

Mary sat on the edge of her bed in the bunker, dangling her feet. She should've gotten up and dressed by now, but she hadn't found the strength to do so yet.

This was her first birthday since she came back.

The first birthday without John.

In her world, a year ago she'd been at home in Lawrence, celebrating with her two perfect little boys and her husband, feeling full to burst with contentment and birthday cake.

Now, she had been thrown back into a cruel world in which her husband had died and her sons were grown man who'd experienced their childhood, teens and early adulthood without knowing a mother.

Mary caught herself toying again with the chain around her neck on which John's wedding ring hung, a constant reminder that the world she knew was lost forever.

She felt tears well up in her eyes as she whispered to herself: “I'm not ungrateful. I'm not. I'm here for my sons.”

But even as she said it, she was well aware that she could never make up for lost time, and that she would never be more than a stranger related by blood. Well, maybe it was different for Dean, but Sam...  
God, Sam. He'd been a happy baby last time she had held him – really held him. Her baby boy.

A single tear slid down her face as a big lump formed in her throat.

She should pull herself together and act her part. She shouldn't make this harder or weirder on her sons than it already was... but she felt too weak and miserable to move.

A knock at the door made her jump. Mary hastily wiped her hands over her face, took a shaking breath and said: “Come in.”

The door opened slowly and, despite her first expectation that it would be Dean, Sam entered the room, looking around sheepishly before giving her a tiny smile that reminded her so much of John she only barely managed not to start crying again.

“Happy birthday, Mom”, Sam said and sat down on the bed next to her, nervously turning a small, gift-wrapped present over and over in his hands.

“I wasn't sure what to get you”, he admitted, and Mary felt yet another pang of guilt and sadness.

“You didn't need to get me anything”, she tried to reassure him, but her giant of a son shrugged and shook his head.

“Of course I did. It's your birthday after all.”

“Appears so”, she said and managed a smile.

Sam handed the package over to her, saying: “I wrapped it myself. Not sure about the paper, though...”

Sam frowned unhappily. Since it sounded like this had been another genuine concern for him, Mary smiled and squeezed her son's hand reassuringly: “I like it, Sam.”

She carefully undid the tidily tied ribbon and then began opening up the present slowly and methodically. She'd always done it this way, even when she was a kid. Not tearing the paper apart but carefully unwrapping the present had been her way of stretching the suspense a little bit longer.

Now she wasn't sure whether it was habit or anxiety that made her fingers work so slowly.

Finally she held Sam's present in her hand. It was a tiny perfume bottle in a simple, cubic shape. The liquid inside glowed a soft, rose gold hue.

Mary removed the stopper and carefully inhaled the scent... A scent so familiar it conjured up memories and feelings she thought she'd long forgotten, and for once they were mostly good memories, even though now tinged with a hint of sadness.

“Mom? What's wrong?”

She opened her eyes which had again filled with tears: “Did Dean help you pick this one out?”, she asked, her voice hoarse.

While she put the stopper back, Sam firmly shook his head.

He was surprised by how fiercely Mary hugged him, whispering her thanks. He hugged her back, unsure why this seemed to mean so much to her, but readily letting himself be hold.

When she finally let him go and set back, she asked: “Why this one?”

Sam shrugged: “It just... I don't know. I thought it would suit you. Do you like it?”

Mary cried and laughed at the same time: “Your father used to buy this scent for me on Christmas every year. The bottle looks different and the name has changed... but it smells exactly the same.”

Biting her lip, she asked: “Do you think that... maybe... you remembered the scent?”

Sam shrugged again, helplessly this time: “I'm not sure. It just felt right to buy this one.”

On an impulse, he pulled his mother into another hug: “I love you”, he whispered in her ear, and she knew him well enough by now to know he truly meant it.

“Love you too, baby”, she answered.

Sam stood and walked to the door: “Whenever you're ready, Mom. Dean's in the kitchen making a mess – I'm not sure whether he's decided by now if he's baking waffles or pancakes. Probably he makes both.”

Mary laughed at the idea of her usually overly gruff acting son baking pancakes. She had a feeling she'd need to rescue him soon or he might burn down the bunker in the end.

“Mom, would it be okay if I got you a bottle of these on your birthday? Every year from now on?”, Sam asked shyly, and Mary felt a smile tugging up the corners of her mouth.

“Of course, Sam. I'd love that.”

After Sam had left, Mary took the perfume bottle in her hand again and regarded it, the smile on her face deepening because she felt like a great weight had been lifted off of her: Maybe even Sam remembered some things about her, and even if he really didn't, they now had the chance to get to know each other.

Mary hadn't really lost her boys: They were still there, in these over-grown, insecure, withdrawn men who would buy her perfume and try to bake waffles for her, and she was still their mom.

They were family, and this wasn't going to change. Not ever.


	20. Downplayed

_**Disclaimer** : Nothing of Supernatural is in any way mine._

_**Characters** : Dean, Castiel_   
_**Spoilers** : None_   
_**Additional** **tags** : AU; Destiel_   
_**Warnings** : None_

_**A/N:** Again, wow, this went on longer than I thought it might._   
_– I've also just realised I've not yet thanked all of you for reading and following along :) Thank you for joining me in this. If you've got the time, I'd love to read your opinion so feel free to leave a review._

* * *

 

**Downplayed**

“So...”, Castiel finished unlocking the door and swung it open, “this is where I live.”

Dean followed his friend inside, looking around curiously. For some reason, he'd have expected the place to be much more anonymous and much less comfy – but he'd been wrong thinking that Cas would have all white, blank walls and modern-day furniture. The walls were decorated with pictures of family and friends, mixed with posters and other interestingly looking decorations Dean wouldn't even know where to put. Cas' furniture was also a well-rounded mix of new stuff and classic designs.  
They'd known each other for half a year now, but until now he'd never been Cas' apartment.

Dean became aware that he was staring, and he hastily stopped and focussed his gaze on Cas instead, giving him a broad, if somewhat apologetic smile: “It's nice.”

“Thanks. Do you want something to drink?”

“A beer would be nice.”

Cas nodded and disappeared in the room next door. Apparently that was the kitchen. Dean made a mental note of that and, since Cas wasn't around to see him, turned his attention back to the wall next to the door where photos of Cas and friends were in full display.

“Looks like I'm all out of beer”, Castiel called regretfully, “how about... orange juice instead?”

“I'm fine with that, too”, he answered and grumbled under his breath: “Only for you, Castiel; only for you.”

Frowning, he realized that he was featured on quite a lot of the photos, some of which he couldn't even remember to have been taken.

He eyed one of them closely and figured it was from their nearly-disastrous fishing trip with Charlie last month. The memory made Dean's stomach flip with nausea.

“There you go.”

As Dean took the glass filled with juice from Cas' hand, their fingers met briefly and Dean found it hard to pull away again: “Thanks.”

“I can still see that bruise on your temple”, Castiel noticed and Dean involuntarily touched the faded mark with his hand.

He saw Cas' piercing gaze resting on the bruise and smiled brightly at his friend to calm both of them down: “Nothing serious happened, remember?”

“I can't but think about what I'd be doing right now if 'something serious' had happened.”

Dean chuckled: “I'm sure you'd be wailing over my grave, all heart-broken.”

“Something like that”, Castiel said ominously, staring down at the juice in his glass.

Dean became serious: “Stop thinking about it. It was an accident and we got off lightly.”

It had been his own fault anyway, so Dean wasn't sure why Castiel would blame himself. They'd been out on the lake in a boat and the boys had fooled around while Charlie snapped pictures and laughed until tears ran down her face.  
Dean wasn't even sure anymore how they'd managed to turn the boat over.  
There had been a sudden feeling of flying through the air, of something big coming his way too fast to avoid, then he couldn't breathe... Truth be told, after that his memory was a blank slate – he only knew what Charlie had told him about what'd happened, since Cas wouldn't answer any of his calls or texts.

Until yesterday, when he suddenly asked Dean to come over.

He couldn't help but wonder if maybe with Cas at his side he'd have gotten over the incident earlier and better.

A weird month of radio silence.

Dean had missed Cas like mad.

There was an awkward silence before Castiel suddenly seemed to remember his manners: “Please, sit”, he invited Dean, who flopped down on Cas' sofa unceremoniously, taking a sip of orange juice with a grimace.

“So what have you been up to these past few weeks?”, Dean asked, and immediately realised his voice hadn't sounded as light-minded as he'd intended.

“Nothing, really. I was... coping with what happened.”

Dean set his glass down on the table and eyed his friend with surprise.

“You know what I thought when we pulled you of the water?”

“Cas, I told you...”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I'm not”, Dean said, way too fast. He'd had a concussion and a laceration which needed stitches... he'd been right as rain again in a few days, though he hadn't yet mustered up the courage to go back to the lake again.

“After the boat had flipped over, Charlie and I came back up quickly, a bit startled maybe, but we were still in a good mood. That is until we realised you hadn't resurfaced again. If Charlie hadn't remained so calm, I...”

Charlie had told Dean he'd been unconscious for a while, but she'd made the whole thing seem... in control. Judging by the way Cas raked his fingers through his already wild hair told him she might have downplayed the accident and his friends' fright a bit.

“I don't really remember how long it took to find you; but when we finally did and made it back to the shore, I was certain you were dead. There was blood all over your forehead and it looked like you weren't breathing...”

Cas' eyes filled with tears, and Dean felt like someone had stabbed him in the stomach and twisted the knife with ferocity. He suddenly felt cold all over.

“It made me think that I never had a chance to tell you how important you've become to me. I thought I would never...” He paused, hesitated, then shook his head.

“Never do what?”, Dean asked gently, his heart beating fast and hard against his rips.

Cas blushed.

“Tell me, Castiel”, Dean ordered, his voice sounding hoarse.

“I thought I'd never have the chance to tell you that... I'm in love with you.”

Dean felt his eyes widen, and Castiel, seeing his expression, began babbling: “I knew you don't swing that way so I accepted what I was getting myself into when I became your friend. I never meant to fall for you as hard as I did, but – Charlie knew; so she agreed that we'd tell you nothing about how I freaked when I thought you were dead. It was all a bit... Well, the doctors said you were fine and I was driving Charlie crazy and then Sam came along, and I left because it's not like you're my boyfriend...”  
He stopped, his voice faltering: “Not like you'd _ever_ be my boyfriend.”

Dean stared at Castiel, blinked and began laughing helplessly. When he saw Cas flinch at the unexpected sound, he managed to stop, though he could still feel the corners of his mouth twitch as he said: “Why didn't you tell me all this earlier?”

“I didn't want to loose my best friend... And now I've screwed up anyway. I can understand if you want to leave now.”

Dean stood and walked over to Cas and when he refused to look up at him, he knelt down before him: “Things would have been a lot easier if you'd only told me, you stupid, gorgeous-looking idiot!”

Cas frowned at Dean's grin, but only for a moment because Dean unexpectedly pressed his lips against Cas'.

Castiel broke away from the kiss first, gasping for air, but beaming all over his face.

“So, let's talk about what else you thought you might never have the chance to tell me.”

Castiel slid out of his chair to sit on the floor next to Dean.

He decided that this time maybe 'showing' was preferable to 'telling': And so he did.


	21. Glimpses

_**Disclaimer** : I don't own Supernatural._

_**Characters** : Sam_   
_**Spoilers** : None_   
_**Warnings** : None_

_**A/N:** This one feels like it's nothing more than... okay, but hopefully that's just due to lack of sleep, overdose of caffeine and a headache._

* * *

 

**Glimpses**

Sam vividly remembers the first time he and Dean had ended up at Bobby's. He remembers how wary he had been around Bobby.  
At first, he thought the man was just like Dad – tough and strict, if maybe a bit rounder around the middle; and he definitely cursed some more and drunk less, if only barely.

But, as the Winchester brothers found out early on, Bobby made an effort. Dad was great at explaining things, but mostly he considered the hunt after whatever had killed their mom to be the most important part of their education. When asked about more mundane things, he'd often not answer, or quickly come back to the next hunt, the next monster, the next town to go to.

Though Bobby appeared taciturn when they first met, he quickly warmed to them and became less aloof. He liked talking to them, making sure they really understood what he explained, and he wouldn't talk only about hunting.

He also shared other things with them, things of value they only much later learned to appreciate.

Bobby taught them stuff they wouldn't ever have dared to ask their Dad about, and he did so of his own volition.

When they were with Bobby, they were allowed to do things they liked, and more often than not Bobby joined in their ridiculous childrens' play-pretend.

He allowed them glimpses at what a normal life might feel like.

When their Dad came back to get them, it was always hard to leave and get back under Dad's strict tutelage.

“I'll always be here when you need me”, Bobby promised the boys time and time again, and they had learned to believe in his promises.

He meant them.

* * *

 

It wasn't that Bobby appeared to be the loneliest of hunters: Many came to him for help or advise, but he lived alone and no one shared the normal chores of a day with him.  
There was no one for him to care for, and it showed sometimes by his gruff demeanour.

The Winchesters learned to see past his defences and see him for what he was, just like he did when it came to them.

Sam figures that maybe he and Dean must have been like little versions of Dad – maybe Dean a bit more than he was... But they certainly weren't easy. Apart from hunting, there was little else that Dad allowed their minds to be occupied with, and for a long time, they were too afraid to rebel against him. The thought alone was like blasphemy, especially to Dean.

Maybe even Sam wouldn't have plucked up his courage to scrutinize Dad's actions if it hadn't been for Bobby Singer.

Sam had come back to hunting eventually, but he'd had done so knowing the consequences and accepting the risks, and that was because Bobby helped him to think other than what Dad taught him... – And Sam owed Bobby the world for that.


	22. Unthought of before

_**Disclaimer** : Do I really have to tell you...?_

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean_   
_**Inspired** **by** : an idle mind_   
_**Spoilers** : If you haven't seen season eight yet you won't understand._   
_**Season** : Season 8._

_**A/N:** Sometimes when I get really immersed in a project (like this challenge, for example), my mind comes up with pretty weird ideas. To give you one example: Last weekend I seriously considered burning something because I was wondering whether the smoke smells different if I salt it first. Yep, that's me._   
_So here's another thing I wondered about..._

* * *

 

**Unthought of before**

They stood in the war room facing each other over the map table. Dean had his arms crossed before his chest in annoyance, while Sam was still coming to terms with what Dean's problem was.  
He said: “I can't believe you've never done this before.”

Dean snorted: “Well, I haven't.”

Sam's lips went up in a smirk.

Dean narrowed his eyes: “Don't you dare look smug, Sammy... I'm sure there's tons of similar stuff _you_ don't know how to do either.”

“You sure?”

Dean sighed and shrugged: “Maybe we could get someone to help. Someone professional.”

There was a moment of stunned silence until Sam chuckled: “Somehow when you say 'professional' it always comes out sounding dirty...”

“I'm serious, Sam – I don't want to do this. We never had to before!”

“But that's just because we were moving around a lot. If we stay here, there are certain tasks that need to be done regularly. – I'm sure you had to help Lisa every once in a while.”

“Yeah, with the _important_ stuff.”  
He gestured to the device sitting on the table with a certain amount of disgust. “This was Ben's job. Seriously, now, someone professional...”

“You really want someone to come _here?”_ Sam gestured to the Library and raised an eyebrow.  
The books lining the shelves didn't only contain occult lore but also looked like they did: Old, dusty, leathery and, in some extreme cases, there were even parchments written on with somebody's blood. Or maybe something's blood.

And this was just the Library. There were other rooms in the Bunker much stranger.

Dean sighed. “Maybe we could get someone and wipe his or hers mind afterwards...?”, he asked hopefully though not really serious. He knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Sam decided this was probably where the argument needed to be stopped, so he ignored Dean's latest idea.

He gestured down to the waiting task at hand, still shaking his head: “I'm sure a hunter of your abilities won't be beaten by a goddamned vacuum cleaner. You got the new bag? Okay. So first you'd better unplug the whole thing, and then...”

* * *

 

Having somewhere stationary as headquarters was amazing, and, coming from smelly, interchangeable motel rooms, the Bunker was a sure change for the better. But when you're a hunter who's used to moving around a lot, there are certain things you don't necessarily have considered to be important before.  
For Dean, that was keeping the place clean. It was Sam – naturally – who brought the subject up first and forced Dean to do his part ( _“We don't even use that room!” – “Doesn't matter. We might, sooner or later, and getting it all cleaned up now saves time later...!”_ ), but after a while, Dean got the hang of it.

Sure he'd helped Lisa before, but somehow this had been different. It had been her house and her stuff, even after he'd been living there a while. But now he found that after a hunt, after blood and fighting and, more often than not, after near-death-experiences, wiping something clean had a calming effect on him.

Dean had never liked his hands to be idle; and this was also another possible way of keeping his mind off of things.

Of course he'd never admit he actually _liked_ keeping his home as clean as humanly possible – especially not to Sam.


	23. TV Land (Part 1)

_**Disclaimer** : Just read disclaimers of Chapter 01-22, you'll get the gist of this. I don't own any fairy tales either, for that matter._

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean, Trickster, Castiel_   
_**Inspired** **by** : 5x08 'Changing Channels'_   
_**Spoilers for** : 5x08_   
_**Season** : Five_   
_**Additional tags** : additional scene, cross-over(ish)_   
_**Warnings** : swearwords_

_**A/N1:** This will be a two-parter since the word count has gone enough over the top as it is (sorry not sorry for that...)._   
_This is set between the scenes featuring what supernaturalwiki.com calls 'The Supernatural Sitcom' and 'CSI Miami'._

* * *

 

**TV Land (Part 1)**

Maybe they should be used to sudden changes in the scenery by now, but Dean definitely wasn't, and changing from the unusually clean, well-lit and nice-smelling motel room to a forest and a steady drizzle of rain coming down from the thick foliage above was a bit of a shock.

He vaguely wondered whether the Trickster – or whatever Cas thought he was – would force them to 'play their roles' in all three hundred channels he'd mentioned earlier.

Blinking, Dean looked around quizzically. At least the cold rain was a sure sign they'd made it out of the sitcom... which was a shame, since at least the chicks had looked okay.

Sam standing next to his brother chuckled in amusement. “Nice attire, Dean.”

Dean looked down. “Well, at least green suits me better than it suits you”, he said, gesturing to his brother's outfit. “I especially like that hat of yours. Not sure about the feather, though. It's a bit too much, if you ask me.”

Sam pointed to Dean's head with a nasty smirk.

“Dammit...”

“What are you two waiting for?”

Both brothers jerked at the sudden, unfamiliar voice coming from a few metres before them, where a man in similar clothing stood, apparently the tiniest bit impatient. Just like Sam and Dean he wore an ancient looking rifle on a strap. He beckoned the brothers forward, who warily walked over to him.

“Play your role”, Sam hissed, and Dean nudged him in the rips for this; it wasn't that he'd be likely to forget this.

“This is as far as I'll go”, the man said and, with a fond smile, he offered a knife in a worn sheath to Dean.

“If you two ever part, I advise you to stick that knife in a tree. If either of you comes back, he'll see how his brother his doing, for when he's in some sort of trouble, the blade's side assigned to him will rust.”

“Assigned how?”, Sam asked, just as Dean gestured to the knife: “Please tell me this isn't some magic mumbo-jumbo again...”

The man snorted and, since Dean made no move to take the knife, he gave it to Sam instead: “Usually you're not that slow on the uptake, boys. When you part, one of you goes left and the other right; and that's the blade's side assigned to you.”

The man – Dean couldn't help but associate him with the term 'huntsman' due to his camouflage-colored clothes, rifle and the wicked looking knife thrust into his belt – hugged the brothers with tears in his eyes.

They returned the hugs half-heartedly to keep playing their roles, only thinking about how to get out of here as soon as possible.

Then the man left.

Dean turned to his brother: “Man, what the heck is going on here?”

Sam shuffled with his feet nervously: “You're not going to like this.”

“What's not to like? It's raining, it's cold, I'm hungry and there's nothing to see except goddamned trees... Couldn't get much worse.”

“It's fairy tales again.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope... This reminds me of one of the latter known Grimm stories, called 'The Two Brothers'.”

“Well here's a coincidence... Or not.”

Sam nodded, turning the knife over and over in his hands.

“At least we know fairy tales always end well with the strapping young lad inheriting the kingdom and marrying the most beautiful princess”, Dean tried to reassure himself as he checked the rifle. It looked solid and real enough, but it felt unsafe. He liked his equipment up-to-date.

“Yeah, not so much. Not in this one, anyway. Both brothers get killed at one point.”

“But they're brought back to life and get their happy ending, don't they?”, Dean asked with wide eyes.

Sam shrugged: “Let's hope they do, because otherwise this one will be a real downer.”

* * *

 

The brothers had been walking through the forest for what felt like hours, and both were tired and hungry.

“I wonder where the Trickster has zapped Cas off to this time”, Dean voiced his thoughts.

“No clue. I'm sure he's okay, though”, Sam muttered, battering a low-hanging branch out of his way.

Dean sighed and after a few moments of silence and making efforts not to slip on wet leaves he asked: “Now how are we going to get through this nightmare?”

“I wish I knew, but I can't remember the story that well...”

Dean huffed in disbelief: “Something you don't know, for once?”

“As I said, this is one of the not-so-well known stories. I read it once. It's fairy tales – who'd think that we might one day stumble into one?”

The narrow path they'd been following just then split up in two, one going left, one right. This provided Dean with an idea: “Maybe we're supposed to split up for a while; we do have that magic knife after all. That is our biggest clue so far.”

Sam unsheathed the blade and looked it over again, narrowing his eyes: “I'm not sure if that's what came next...”

“You have a better idea then?”

“Not really.”

“Then let's stop wasting time and get the hell out of here. I'd rather watch you do another commercial than stay in this dripping forest much longer.”

“I thought we had agreed to never talk about that again”, Sam complained tiredly – he was sure by now he'd never hear the end of this.

Dean grabbed the knife and with force stuck it into the tree standing closest to the crossroads.

The brothers hesitated for a little while; splitting up now suddenly stopped feeling like a good idea.  
Usually the really bad things tended to happen after they parted ways.

“Dean...”

The older actually went so far as to hug his brother shortly and slap him hard on the back before stepping backwards, saying: “You too, Sammy. Don't you dare get killed while I'm away.”

Trying not to show how hard it felt to leave his brother on his own, Dean re-fastened the strap of the rifle, straightened the ridiculous hat on his head and, after giving Sam a reassuring smile, he took the path to the left, feeling like this was one big mistake.

On the other hand – this was a bloody fairy tale, and so far he hadn't seen witches or monsters. No princesses either, for that matter; but in the end everyone tended to live happily ever after.

Surely trying to get there was how they were supposed to play their roles this time.

* * *

 

If Dean had been thinking he might make it out of the forest sooner rather than later, he'd been mistaken. The sun went down, it rained only harder and he realised he'd have to spent the night in between the trees.

He wasn't too well-learned in fairy tales, but his hunter-instincts prevented him from lighting a fire.  
You never know what kind of ugly sons of bitches might take an interest in you.

Dean leant against the bark of a big oak tree, shivering in his thin garment. He'd lost his hat some time ago and, despite it's lack of style, he wished he hadn't because now the rain water ran from his wet hair onto his nose in thick, constant drops.

Swearing under his breath that next time he got a hold on the damned Trickster he'd make sure he was dead for good, he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

When Dean woke up, the sun had barely risen. The rain had stopped and birds were singing, but he was cold and felt stiff.  
He would have also murdered for a toothbrush and a shave – when had been the last time he'd had a chance to really clean himself up? He wasn't too sure. Cas had said they'd been missing for days, so maybe the last shower had quite some time ago.

Thinking of Cas made him feel worried – what had the Trickster done with him now? Last time, when he'd stumbled through the door into their sitcom-appartment, he'd looked dishevelled and there'd been blood on his face. The audience, which Dean had actually been able to see for real had laughed nonetheless.

Dean sighed. TV shows were nice, as long as you weren't forced to actually live them.

He decided that sitting around feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to get him out of TV Land any sooner; and he'd have to walk on for a bit more until he could head back to where he parted ways with Sam.

Now that the sun was up and shining and he was on his way instead of sitting still for ages just brooding, he felt he had a new spring in his step.

After only a few minutes of walk, though, he reached a clearing in the middle of which an old woman was kneeling, cutting grass with a sickle. Next to her were two baskets filled with apples and pears.

Usually Dean would have retreated back into the woods, but this was a show about fairy tales, and this woman might either be a hag or an obstacle, or maybe a princess in disguise that needed saving; so he continued on warily.

“Good morning”, he approached her carefully. Following his instincts, like he had when he suddenly found he knew the answer in the Japanese game show, he asked her: “Do you need help carrying that? It looks like an awful lot for someone your... ah... height”, he finished lamely.

“Why yes, thank you”, she said and laughed, with maybe a bit too much cackle in the laughter for Dean's taste. But there was no going back now.

He helped her finish up with cutting grass, storing it safely in something resembling a sling, then took both the baskets and the sling and followed the old woman, who walked a lot faster than he did. Meanwhile he felt that the baskets were getting heavier with every step; and he began sweating and tiring. Within a short time he was out of breath, but when he tried setting his load down to make a short break he found he couldn't.  
The woman watched him with a smile he found hard to interpret.

But Dean wasn't one to complain, so he gritted his teeth and walked on stoically.

The path they were following wound its way up a climb, zigzagging between the high trees and Dean couldn't help but wonder how the old woman, who seemed to know exactly where they were going, had been supposed to make this way on her own.

She seemed to have read his mind: “Don't tell me you're already tired, young man.”

“I'm not”, Dean lied and, to his extreme and utter horror, the woman nodded, grinned and, with a quickness he'd never attributed to her age, she climbed unto his back and no matter what he did, she wouldn't get back down again.

Dean was forced to carry her as well as her burden.

“I _hate_ fairy tales”, Dean grumbled as he walked on, grunting with the effort.  
“Maybe I should get Cas to zap me back to whenever so I can stop the Brothers Grimm from ever writing down their stories...”

The woman – he was sure now she wasn't a princess for she weighed as much as a ton of bricks – smacked him along the side of his head: “Less talking and more walking, young man – I'm not getting any younger!”

* * *

 

When they reached the woman's hut, which was small, but well-tended to, Dean was again disappointed. For some reason he'd expected either for the woman to magically transform into a fairy or for her home to be a castle.

Like this disappointment wasn't worse enough, there was no hot chick-princess waiting for him either but another, elderly woman dressed in rags looking after a number of geese.

“Dammit”, Dean grumbled as he sat down his burden.

“Thank you for helping me with this”, the woman said, shooing the younger one inside the hut, “I'll get you something to drink while you have a good rest.”

Dean sat down in the shadow the hut cast and, after a short time, he fell asleep, dreaming weird stuff about Sam becoming a prince and marrying a pretty, blonde woman vaguely resembling Jess only to leave her shortly after the marriage and, chasing a creepy white deer, to get himself lost in the forest.

He woke up with a start because the old woman was shaking him.

“You have to leave now, it's getting late. Thanks again. If you continue for another hour in this direction”, she pointed to where the sun was setting, “then you'll reach the nearest town. Don't stay around here; it's not safe in the woods at night.”

“Oh I'm very well aware of that”, Dean grumbled in annoyance and rose to his feet.

At least he was fairly dry now.

As he left, he looked back once more and saw the younger woman looking after him, her expression unreadable and void every emotion.

Dean felt sure she reminded him of someone.

* * *

 

He'd been walking for the better part of an hour and was sure that he'd reach the town soon when Dean stopped abruptly, suddenly feeling rather foolish.

Up to now, the Trickster had always been watching him and Sam – so maybe he'd been hanging around him all along. The old woman might very well be him: She'd been eating out of the baskets the whole way long, and the fruit had surely smelled sweet enough. She'd also had her wicked game with him: And two small baskets of fruit should by no means be this heavy.

Or maybe the younger one which had reminded him of someone was another disguise of the demi-god.

On the other hand, he'd stumbled into a fairy tale, so maybe this was part of the role he was supposed to play. He and Sam shouldn't have split up: What if Dean wasn't in the right fairy tale anymore? Or if he'd missed a clue or something? Sam was so much better at this then he was. He was sure to get along much better.

_Well, whose idea was splitting up again, Dean?_

The question was – should he continue on to the town as the woman had suggested, or should he go back to the hut to try and figure out if something fishy was going on there...?

* * *

 

In the end Dean turned back. Maybe it wasn't the choice the strapping young man in a fairy tale might make, but he was fed up with not being himself.

Being forced to live a fairy tale – even if only for some time – had been the Trickster's up to now cruellest trick – Dean knew well enough such tales were for children.  
In real life people don't live happily ever after. They just keep dying.

Because he was so angry, he managed to get himself lost in the woods – again – and he wandered around aimlessly for what felt like hours. Luckily there was a full moon, so at least he could see enough not to run into any trees suddenly looming ahead of him, but apart from that, brambles tore his clothes to shreds and scratched his skin, he stumbled over fallen logs, slipped on still-wet moss and experienced, all things considered, one of the worst nights in all his life.

Then he saw a figure skilfully and quickly walking some way ahead of him, and in the moon's light he recognized it to be the younger of the two women he'd encountered earlier.

Grinning to himself, Dean pulled the stake he'd prepared out of his tattered shirt and followed the woman; now extra careful both not to make a sound or trip over things.

He stopped when the woman stepped onto a wide clearing. There was a pond situated in the middle of it where she sat down and pulled her dress over her head.

Again Dean wished she was a beautiful princess instead of this middle aged, plain-faced and filthy-looking specimen.

He watched in some discomfort as she stepped into the pond, walking until she was in to her shoulders before dipping her head as well. She stayed under water for quite some time, so long that Dean wondered whether he'd just witnessed a suicide – though surely such things didn't happen in TV shows depicting fairy tales.

When the woman re-appeared, however, Dean gasped in shock.

The figure emerging from the pond was naked apart from pettipants; but it wasn't the body of a woman anymore but that of a man, and his face was more than a bit familiar. In his confusion, Dean stepped onto a twig which snapped in half with a sharp crack.

_“Cas?”_ , he asked, forcing back the impulse to rub his eyes like a child in disbelief.

“Dean!”, the man, who really was Cas apparently, exclaimed in relief, “finally! I wasn't sure if this was going to work; it took me most of the day trying to get away from that woman, and even longer until I figured out how to return to my true form.”

“You were... I mean, _how_...?”

“There is no time for this, Dean, listen, the trickster, he's... ”, Cas made a move as if to grab Dean by the arm, but before he could he froze, mid-sentence; and Dean had a feeling of déjà vu.

“Oh really, now he just pisses me off.”

Cas flickered out of existence.

Dean spun around to where the Trickster had appeared shaking his head: “And you haven't kept to the rules, either. They shouldn't be to complicated even for you, Dean.”

“What have you done to Cas?”

“Just now or before? Oh, don't worry, he won't be harmed. I just want him to stop interfering. – But tell me, what am I supposed to do with you now? I had it all so nicely planned out before, but you two idiots messed up the story completely.”

Dean, who'd hid the stake in his hand behind his back snorted as he angrily asked: “So which one are you supposed to be, Jacob or Wilhelm?”

“Neither, I'm afraid; though I knew them quite well... You might say I knew them once upon a time.” The Trickster laughed at Dean's scowl.

“You see, we shared a certain interest in peoples' stories...”

“Well, congrats on that.”

Dean was thinking fast, trying to figure out how he could get close enough to the Trickster to stake him; but apparently the demi-god wasn't going to be distracted by mere talking: “Any way, Dean, I gotta go, things to do, things to prepare. Your brother is nearing the semi-finale, and if he's as dumb as you are...”

He tut-tutted and then disappeared into thin air.

Dean realised that everything he'd done that day had been nothing more than a distraction provided by the Trickster to keep him busy and away from Sam. Dean gripped the stake tighter, renewing his vow to get rid of this annoying god as soon as possible.

Regardless of Sam's hopes, he surely wasn't going to help them stop the apocalypse.

* * *

 

It took Dean three days to make it back to where he and Sam had split up, and his stomach made a flip when he saw that the side of the blade connected to Sam was more than half rusted-through.

He needed to get to his brother as soon as possible.

* * *

 

_**A/N2:** The fairy tales I've messed up are 'The Two Brothers' and 'The Goose-Girl at the Well', for those of you interested. Those were my favourites as a kid... though reading through this again, I don't recognize either of them._


	24. TV Land (Part 2)

_**Disclaimer** : Just read disclaimers of Chapter 01-22, you'll get the gist of this. I don't own any fairy tales either, for that matter._

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean, Trickster, Castiel_   
_**Inspired** **by** : 5x08 'Changing Channels'_   
_**Spoilers** **for** : 5x08_   
_**Season** : Five_   
_**Additional tags** : additional scene, cross-over(ish)_   
_**Warnings** : swearwords_

_**A/N** : This is set between the scenes featuring what supernaturalwiki.com calls 'The Supernatural Sitcom' and 'CSI Miami'._

* * *

 

**TV Land (Part 2)**

Sam wished he could've laughed at how ridiculous this whole situation was. They should be out, in the real world, finding a way to keep Lucifer at bay that did not include Sam serving as his permanent vessel.  
They should be out there doing the family business, saving people; but instead they were trapped in what he by now felt surely was the worst adaptation of classic Grimm fairy tales he'd ever been forced to suffer through... And being part of it meant he couldn't even change channels.

There were many other things he couldn't do right now either – like scratching his itching nose. Or rolling over to his back to watch the sky. Or getting out of this new, weird nightmare.  
He was facing downwards, unprotected from the rain falling down on him; unable to move so much as a muscle.

Maybe, Sam mused, it had gone wrong from the moment on he'd crossed paths with that hare offering one of his offspring so Sam wouldn't shoot him.  
Sam had told him no thanks, and had continued on without harming the hare; he wasn't that hungry, and talking animals gave him the creeps.

Then he'd come to the town where people talked about a dragon coming to devour the princess, as she was the last maiden in all the kingdom. Sam had felt this was his chance to answer to the challenge of 'playing his role', but as he hurried to save the princess (who had rather large front-teeth and a lisp but apart from that she was fairly pretty) he found that he wasn't needed.  
Like, at all.  
The moment the princess defeated the dragon on her own, without his help, should've been another hint that either the Trickster had added his own touch to the story, or that this was one messed up fairy tale...

This just wasn't how things were suppose to go: No damsel in distress should be able to swing a sword like that.

Still, up to now there'd always been a way out of the shows he and Dean had been thrown into, so he kept asking questions and after a while had a pretty good idea where he was supposed to go: A seemingly haunted forest might just be what he was looking for; and tales of people wandering in, getting lost and never returning didn't scare him in the least.

Now however he knew better.

* * *

 

While the forest Dean had left behind only a few hours ago had mostly consisted of deciduous trees, this one was mostly conifers, standing too close together, casting long shadows where a bit of light did come through. Apart from the constant creaking noise the trees made as they bent this way and that in the wind, there was no sound at all, no bird song, no shuffling of larger animals between the logs.  
Despite sweating from the exercise of walking up the steady climb, Dean suddenly caught himself shivering. Every few steps he'd turn around to see if someone was following him. He had the rifle at the ready as well, though he still didn't really trust that thing – but he'd been to worried for Sam to go and get some other weapon when he'd been in town.

It was one thing to have a look at a haunted house on your own; but when people told you about a whole forest which appeared to be cursed, you waited for back-up or turned and went the other way...  
Leave it to Sam to play the hero.

Dean knew he wasn't really annoyed but worried, but that didn't stop him from clutching the rifle tightly in anger.

The trees' shadows lengthened even more as the sun went down and Dean felt increasingly tired. He was also sure someone, or possibly something, was watching him. He trusted his keen senses but began to fight down the urge to turn around again. Maybe he could get whatever was following him to become less careful.

At first, when he'd still been close to the forests' edges, he had called out Sam's name; but when he realised how quiet it was, he stopped, and now even the shuffling of his feet moving the pine needles on the ground sounded alien and far too loud.

Finally there was no more light, and Dean was forced to stop.

“What I wouldn't give for a torch right now”, he sighed as he sat down with his back against one of the trees, trying to figure out how he was supposed to actually find his brother.

“I guess adding Jack Sparrow's compass to the knife would've spoilt the fun”, Dean said into the silence, wondering whether he was going mental. Maybe that was what happened to people in the woods – they first got themselves lost, then they lost their minds as well and began wandering on until they died.

Dean pulled the gun closer to him, determined that if he ever did go down, he'd go down with a weapon in his hands.

He must have slipped off to sleep, because he woke up with a start when he felt someone lightly touching him on the cheek.

“Wake up, Dean”, a voice said, and for a short, heart-stopping, amazing moment he thought it was his mother's. Then he remembered his mother was dead, he was stuck in crazy town and this was probably something out to get him.

When his eyes snapped open, though, he looked into the face of the woman he'd carried baskets full of fruit and a sling of grass for a few days ago. He lost precious seconds trying to figure out what she was doing here, and how she'd made this long a trip in only a few hours more than he had before he finally did raise the rifle barrel to point at her.

She held up her hands as a sign of surrender: “I'm not here to harm you, Dean.”

“I've had a really crappy few days”, Dean grumbled, not lowering the gun, “so... Wait, how do you know my name?”

“I just do – like I know for a fact that you're looking for your younger brother who's gone missing in this wood.”

“You know, lady, this really doesn't make you appear any more trustworthy.”

The woman grinned and shrugged: “Do you want to find your brother and return to... Wellington, Ohio, or not?” She stumbled over the seemingly unfamiliar names.

“You held my friend captive”, Dean said, suddenly remembering what Cas had told him.

The woman only laughed: “You're not the only one I pick up along the way; and despite that I know the look of someone who's on the run and needs a place to stay. Your friend looked like she needed to rest for a while, so I took her in. She was free to leave whenever she wanted.”

“I don't believe a word you're saying.”

The old woman raised an eyebrow as she said: “You see, I don't like to leave debts unpaid, and after you've helped me I feel I owe you. But if you don't want my help...”

She waited. Dean stared at her. A minute passed, then he lowered the gun feeling sick to the stomach.

The woman nodded and gave him an encouraging smile: “Your brother is about an hours walk that way. I'd advise you to go now or you'll miss your opportunity. When you reach the dead fir split in half, light a fire out of pine cones and sit down next to it. Make sure not to fall asleep, though, young man!” She looked at him and when he didn't react, she slapped him sharply on the side of his head.  
“Understood?”

“Yes, ma'am, understood”, Dean retorted, which earned him yet another hit. She was quite strong for so skinny a person.

“Here, you will need this”, she said and shoved something in his hand. A box of matches.

Then, to his utter annoyance, she just vanished and the wood around him became dark again.

“Dammit”, he muttered, getting up slowly, “this wasn't what I meant earlier when I said I wanted a torch...”

* * *

 

Roughly one hour later 'down that way', Dean had built up a nice fire of merrily burning pine cones. The temperature had dropped steadily the farther he went, but he wasn't sure if that was due to some kind of ghost-thing or just because he was quite high up now and it was the middle of the night. Either way, he was glad of the warmth the fire provided. He watched the sparks fly up towards the sky and couldn't help but think of the various funeral pyres he'd seen over the years.

Dean felt his eyelids droop. He was so tired. But he remembered what the old woman had told him, so he got up and walked around the fire a few times before sitting back down again. He repeated this a few times, but he kept awake.

Then he heard a thin voice wailing: “Oh, oh, I'm so cold!”

Dean jerked violently and, trying to locate where the voice originated from he looked around, asking: “Why don't you come down and warm yourself by the fire then?”

“So you can shoot me with that rifle of yours?”, the incorporeal voice hissed. It sounded like the person to which it belonged was constantly moving around.

“What have you done to my brother?”

“Ah, such a nice young man... So much more reasonable than you; so well-mannered.”

“Where is he?”

“Oh, he's close, quite close...”, came the answer in an amused cackle.

Dean felt anger surging through his veins, hot and fierce as he tried to pinpoint the speaker's location, moving the rifle's barrel this way and that.

Then, without any help from Dean, the rifle went off. Maybe it was the magic fairy tales were famous for, or it was just a shot out of good luck, but there was a surprised scream and something dropped from a tree close to the fire, hissing and spitting as it lay on the ground.

If it wasn't for the grey, shrivelled-up skin, Dean might have mistaken it for an old woman with straggly white hair and extremely bad teeth, but as it was, he just pointed the rifle directly at her face: “Show me where my brother is or I swear I'm going to throw you into the fire and watch you burn to ashes!”

The hag – no other term would be more fitting for this thing – crawled to one side with surprising speed, swearing like a trooper until she reached what looked like a huge boulder. She touched it and it began to shrink, if only slightly, and become thinner, until at long last it revealed itself to actually be Sam, looking worn-out and pale-faced.

“You okay, Sammy?”, Dean asked, and Sam nodded grimly, pointing to the hag: “Let's get rid of that.”

They grabbed the hag, who was flailing around wildly, and dragged her towards the fire.

“Good riddance!”, Sam commented.

While they watched the hag's remains burn, the sun began rising and suddenly Dean heard a blackbird starting its song. After mere moments it was followed by various other kinds of birds.

The oppressive atmosphere of the wood seemed had been lifted.

“So what now?”, Sam asked, looking around in confusion. He'd been scratching his nose for the past five minutes. “You think maybe it's over, D... –

The scene abruptly changed again. It was still night, but now they were in a park, surrounded by other people; with yellow crime-scene tape in sight...

“Oh, _come on!”_ , Dean exclaimed.

* * *

 

_– The end._


	25. Adorable

_**Disclaimer** : Nothing in this story actually belongs to me._

_**Characters** : Charlie, Sam, Castiel, Dean_   
_**Inspired by:** 'Hey there Dean'. Thanks to whoever wrote and performed this song for the most amazing inspiration and the most annoying earworm I've had so far all year._   
_**Season** : 9_   
_**Additional tags** : Destiel, fluff_

_**A/N:** For some reason, this again turned out a lot longer than I anticipated. This is what happens when you're constantly turning over the same lyrics in your head when at work._   
_I know Charlie and Cas don't meet until 10x18 – creative license, guys._

* * *

 

**Adorable**

Charlie nudged Sam with her elbow as they followed Dean and Castiel into the Bunker after a successful if somewhat messy hunt.

“Just look at them – they're adorable, aren't they?”, Charlie whispered and giggled as she pointed to the angel and his friend making their way downstairs, busily engaged in their own conversation.

Sam chuckled at first, but then he saw Charlie raising an eyebrow with a questioning expression.

Sam looked back and forth between his brother and Castiel and began to shake his head while staring at his friend in utter amazement: “Are you serious? I mean... come one, they're... They're...”

He made a helpless gesture with his hand and shrugged.

Charlie stopped halfway down and patted Sam's shoulder apologetically: “Sorry to burst your bubble man, but yes, I'm serious. How come you haven't noticed this before?”

“There's nothing to notice, Charlie”, Sam said defensively.

Charlie chuckled, leaned close to Sam and whispered in his ear: “Dean totally has the hots for Cas; and just watch that adorable mess of an angel staring at him...”

She took the last two steps down: “You're lucky I'm not betting you on this – I guarantee you'd loose.”

Sam stared after the red-head, still shaking his head. Dean and Castiel? No way. That was never going to happen.

* * *

 

Despite his complete refusal to believe Charlie, Sam began to notice things he'd written off as being normal weird for Cas and Dean before...

Watching them became an infuriating habit of Sam's.

The first thing that struck him as odd was when Cas left, soon after Charlie. He'd said his goodbyes and then walked off, and Sam found himself watching his brother stare after the angel with a strange expression. He was good at reading Dean's emotion off of his face, but he'd never seen his brother look like this. It was odd.

Next time they ran into Castiel while on a case, he noticed how often the angel's eyes strayed to wherever Dean was standing, and how he quickly averted his gaze whenever Dean turned to talk to him.

More than just once Sam was sure he noticed a light blush creep over his brother's face when he was purposely _not_ looking in Cas' direction.

It was irritating enough before Sam noticed that Castiel and Dean for some reason had stopped touching altogether. Usually when they met, they'd hug; but now there wasn't even a handshake.

There had been many times Dean would slap the other's shoulder when he was being ridiculous, or when he'd done something right, or just because Dean found something the angel said hilarious, but that had stopped as well.

As the weeks passed, Sam watched how that crooked smile which Castiel had reserved for Dean ages ago began to waver and than vanish altogether, and he saw that when his brother looked at the angel, his expression appeared torn between sadness and frustration while he strained to smile.

Sam realised that maybe, after all, Charlie might just have been right in suggesting that there was something going on between Cas and Dean; and watching the two of them not figuring out what was happening made Sam decide it was up to him to help them along.

He began to deliberately leave the two of them alone whenever possible, forcing them to talk to each other instead of mostly to Sam. He stayed out later and longer than he was used to when Cas was staying at the Bunker; he even asked Cas to come over and check if Dean was alright because he had a 'funny feeling'; but the two of them ignored all these possibilities and carried on as they were: Awkward and increasingly distant.

If he didn't knew any better Sam would've guessed they were trying to detach themselves from each other.

There just didn't seem to be any chance that either would talk about the way he felt.

* * *

 

Then came the evening on which Sam reached his breaking point.

Castiel had phoned ahead – had phoned _Sam_ – to ask them if he could stay at the Bunker for a few nights. He'd been in a fight and to not strain his dwindling grace overmuch, he needed a safe place to heal.

Sam had said yes, told Dean and then used a supply run as an excuse to leave and let Dean deal with Castiel on his own.

When he returned to the Bunker, he was careful to enter as quietly as possible to not interrupt whatever they might be doing.

To Sam's immense disappointment, there was nothing to interrupt, really.

Dean was just checking how bad a bleeding scratch on Cas' face was, but his fingers barely touched the angel, and Cas was busy to look anywhere but Dean's face.

They weren't talking; and they both looked extremely unhappy.

Sam slumped down in a chair next to Cas and blurted out: “Just admit that you have feelings for each other and get it out of your system or whatever; I don't really care, just stop this stupid charade so we can get back to being normal!”

Dean stepped back from Cas and raised his hands: “What are you talking about?”

That's when Sam just lost it: “Dean, can't you be honest about your feelings for once in your life?! It's so obvious you're... Dammit, Dean, just kiss Cas already!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt he should regret them – but he didn't. He was fed up with this ridiculous denial of feelings.

There were a few moments of confused silence before Dean said: “I have no idea what you're talking about” at the same moment as Cas said: “Why would Dean even want to kiss me?”

While the first sounded angry, the second's voice broke, and despite the fact that Dean had spoken at the same time as Cas, he still heard the shaking in the angel's voice. Frowning, he turned back to him and found Cas' blue eyes fixed on his face.

Sam wondered if he should say something else or if maybe now they finally got it.

“Would you actually _want_ me to kiss you?”, Dean asked with an expression of utter amazement on his face.

Cas's gaze moved from Dean's eyes to his lips and then back up again in an instant, but Dean had noticed it nonetheless. Judging from the blush returning to his cheeks, this was answer enough.

“Oh...”, he whispered as a huge variety of emotions crossed his face. Cas' eyes became even wider, something Sam hadn't thought possible.

Dean blinked and, suddenly remembering what he had been doing, continued with inspecting the scratch on Cas' forehead. This time, he carefully touched the angel with his fingertips. Cas inhaled sharply as Dean's fingers moved down in a slow caress, finally stopping at Castiel's lips. Neither man seemed capable of moving, but then Cas' crooked smile was back, and Dean's face lit up.

Sam hadn't seen the two of them look this happy in forever.

He stared, transfixed, until suddenly Dean looked up and caught him watching: “Why don't you head out for a while, Sam?”

He felt himself smirking and Dean hurled the towel at him which he'd held in his left hand to wipe away the blood on Cas' face. He only barely avoided it.

“Get out, Sam, you pervert! This is private!”

Sam finally stood so abruptly he made his chair fall over, really feeling like a voyeur as he stammered: “I will. Definitely. You two have... – See you in the morning, I guess...”

* * *

 

Sam waited until the door had closed behind him before he pulled out his phone and dialled Charlie's number.

She didn't so much as say hello but instead burst out: “I was right, wasn't I? Admit it! Admit it!”

“Yes, you were right, Charlie...”

“Well, I _am_ a genius”, she giggled and then begged excitedly: “Tell me _everything_!”


	26. Message from beyond

_**Disclaimer** : I own nothing related to Supernatural and I don't pretend to do._

_**Characters** : Jo, Ellen, Bill, Ash_   
_**Inspired** **by** : 7x04, 7x07_   
_**Spoilers for** : 7x04,7x07_   
_**Season:** Seven_   
_**Additional tags** : Heaven, in-between scene; Dean/Jo implied_

_**A/N:** I've been planning this for some time but doubted I'd ever actually find the courage to write it down. I also feel this deserved to have been more than a one-shot... but there it is anyway._

* * *

 

**Message from beyond**

Seconds after Jo has walked into the Roadhouse, she finds herself gathered up in a bone-crushing hug: “Jo! We were so worried! Where have you been?”

She gives into the hug for a moment before gently untangling herself from her mother: “I'm fine, Mom.”

Ellen gives her a quick once-over before she nods and steps back, repeating her question: “Where have you been?”

Jo sighs and shakes her head: “It was so confusing, Mom. One second I was here, the next in a barn, sitting on a chair opposite of Dean and Sam; and there was a man asking me questions like...”

Ellen frowns and takes her daughter by the arm, leading her to a table: “Calm down, Jo, and tell me again: You saw the Winchesters?”

* * *

 

It takes Jo a while to describe what has happened to Ellen, and when she's nearly finished her father and Ash, who both had been out looking for her, join them, and after more hugs she has to explain the whole thing over again.

It doesn't take them long to figure out Jo has been dictated downstairs by Osiris. Then again, there's no time in Heaven, so maybe it takes them ages really.

Just as they have figured out this much, Jo disappears again. One second she's there, the next she's not; and her parents and Ash can only sit in the Roadhouse and wait for her to return.

When she does, she's even more confused then before; looks even more shaken than earlier, and only after a great deal of coaxing she relates what has happened.

She finishes with: “His eyes, Mom – it was like he was okay with me killing him. Like he'd given up fighting for good. He scared me.”

“That doesn't sound like the Dean I know”, Ellen agrees, staring down at the table top.

Bill takes his wife's hand in his and squeezes it as he says: “So what now?”

“'What now'? There's nothing we can do, Bill...”

“Now this doesn't sound like the Ellen I know”, he raises and eyebrow and grins, “Since when do you give up this easily?”

Ellen's unhappy expression changes to a bright smile as she regards Bill: “I love you, you know that?”

“I know”, he says and again squeezes her hand before turning to Ash and Jo: “So, any ideas?”

Ash abruptly raises: “I might have something... But it'll take me a little while to get ready.”

* * *

 

“Are you sure this will work?”, Jo asks as she eyes the contraption critically. It looks like Ash has joined a shrivelled up potato, a beer can, part of the wiring out of the jukebox and his laptop together using pieces of elastic and gum. There's also the funnel of a gramophone connected to the empty beer can; looking forlorn. Ash has explained what he did, but Jo hasn't understood half of it to be honest. As usual Ash's techniques sound like mumbo-jumbo to her.

“Positive!” He gives her a thumbs up. Just then, one of the elastics comes loose and he flashes the others an apologizing smile: “Well, maybe 75 per cent positive. Or sixty, maybe; but there's still room for improvements if this doesn't work.”

Bill laughs and Ellen sighs as she approaches the funnel cautiously: “So how do I do this?”

“You just speak into the funnel and, if my calculations are correct, the message should be delivered downstairs.”

“This sure is illegal”, Jo whispers to her Dad as Ellen clears her throat.

Bill nods and shrugs as he says: “Wouldn't be the first time Ellen oversteps boundaries for the people she cares for. Like when she and I first fell in love, her Dad...”

“You know I can hear you, William, don't you? There are things our daughter doesn't have to know about us. We might be dead, but our private life stays private if I have any say in the matter!”

Bill flinches at his full name and dutifully relents: “I'm sorry, love, just continue.”

He winks at Jo and mouths: “Later, honey.”

Ellen begins to speak into the funnel and watches as apparently nothing happens. She finishes her message, then looks at Ash questioningly. He's staring at the readings on the laptop's screen, his brow wrinkled in thought.

“Try again”, he suggests, and she does.

* * *

 

Ellen has screamed herself hoarse, and still the readings are the same. They all have a go, but nothing changes.

“This boy seems just as ridiculously stubborn as his Dad was”, Bill grunts as he pulls back from the funnel, “John wouldn't listen to me either.”

Ash shakes his head: “That may not be the problem... Maybe the transmitter is too weak and the message just doesn't reach him at all. I'd hoped his mind might be accessible in his sleep, but the readings tell me otherwise.”

Jo's voice is barely audible as she says: “He didn't look like he was sleeping much... What do you think how much time has gone on downstairs? A week? A month? If he's become as careless in general as I think he was when he let me enter the motel room, he might be dead already.”

“We'd have heard if he was”, Ash tries to calm her, and Bill nods, smiling at her reassuringly: “We'll just have to keep trying.”

And they do. Ash keeps changing the components for his machine, he resets and adjusts his settings, and then, finally, when neither of them really believes the might get through, the readings on the screen spike.

"If you don't tell someone how bad it really is, I'll kick your ass from beyond! You have to trust someone again eventually."

Ellen hurriedly repeats this message, again and again, until the readings return to normal.

They stand around the machine for a while lost for words.

Jo breaks the silence: “Do you think he's got it?”

Ash shrugs: “No way to know for sure... But the message has gone through alright, that much I can tell.”

Bill pulls Jo into a hug: “Don't you worry: I'm sure he'll get the message, one way or another. I just hope he gets the exact wording”, he chuckles.

Jo hugs her father back enthusiastically, and even if she's done so a million times since she's died, she'll never get enough of it. He even smells the same as he did when she was still small.

For a moment she gives in to the hope that maybe one day she'll be able to hug and hold Dean like this as well, that maybe one day he'll come looking for her and they can talk over all the things that were left unsaid, that maybe one day they'll all be in the Roadhouse again, together.

But then she pushes these hopes aside – Dean is needed down there, he isn't finished yet...  
While she has all the time in the world left to wait for him.


	27. Always

_**Disclaimer** : I own Supernatural about as much as I own the clouds sailing across the sky._

_**Characters** : Jimmy, Claire_   
_**Inspired** **by** : A sentence randomly popping into my head. Naturally it didn't make it into the shot._   
_**Spoilers** : None_   
_**Season** : pre series 4_   
_**Warnings** : Plotless fluff._

_**A/N:** Ah – this was planned differently... Again. But apparently fluff is what works for me today._

* * *

 

**Always**

There was a sudden bang from the outside that was either immediately accompanied or followed quickly after by a shriek.  
It was fairly hard to judge.

Jimmy dropped the plate he'd been holding and rushed outside: “Claire!”

His daughter had fallen down the steps of their porch and now lay on the gravel leading up to them, clutching her ankle.  
He quickly looked her over: There were also abrasions on her hands, but they didn't look so bad; apart from that she looked unharmed.

Jimmy helped her sit down on the lowest stair before gently pulling off her shoe to have a look at the ankle.

After carefully moving her foot this way and that he said: “I don't think anything's broken.”  
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Let's get you back inside and we'll put an ice pack on that ankle, alright?”

He picked his daughter up and carried her inside while she buried her face in his shirt and snivelled.

Jimmy was sure she was crying more out of shock than real agony, and since he knew his daughter well, he felt sure she'd calm down soon enough once he'd settled her down comfortably.

After he'd brought his daughter an ice pack as well as a bowl full of ice cream, he swept up the broken plate and finished cleaning the kitchen; then he went into the living room where Claire had picked the bowl clean and already looked a lot better, smiling up at him.

She'd turned on the Television so he sat down next to her, quietly passing her another bowl of ice cream with a wink.  
He'd have to clean them and put them away before her mother got home or otherwise the two of them were in trouble.

“What are we watching?”

“No idea”, she admitted.

Jimmy put his arm around her and she snuggled close, easily fitting into his arms: “We'll figure it out”, he promised and she grinned and nodded, “we always do.”


	28. Bedtime

_**Disclaimer** : I own neither characters nor the show itself, and I'm glad I don't because I'd totally mess things up._

_**Characters** : Sam, Dean, John_   
_**Spoilers** : None_   
_**Season** : pre-series_   
_**Warnings** : None_

_**A/N:** Talked on the phone with my oldest brother yesterday and he told me some stories he's telling his grand-children and I felt inspired._   
_I also thought about how I felt when I was still small, my parents were out and I put my kid brother to bed._   
_Siblings can be horrible... but you still gotta love them._

* * *

 

**Bedtime**

“You want me to tell you a story _again_ , Sammy?”

“Yes, please!”

Dean sighed and gestured for Sam to scoot over on the bed and make room for him. He sat down and leant against the headrest, his little brother snuggling against him.

“What kind of story do you want to hear tonight, then?”  
Dean made himself sound grumpy, but really he was just as fond of telling stories as Sam was of hearing them.

“How about something with Astronauts?”

Dean smiled down at Sam: He came up with something new to talk about every night.

“Okay, Astronauts it is then. Let's think... Have I ever told you how Dad's car broke down on his way home one night and he got picked up by some Astronauts in their spaceship?”

Sam shook his head, and then frowned: “Is this why Dad is late? I mean, do you think his car broke down?”

“I'm sure he'll be back any minute now, Sammy. So are you done asking questions now so I can start?”

Sam nodded and Dean began, making the story up as he went along.

He told him about two Astronauts, one of whom was really stupid and the other exceptionally bright, always fighting but secretly best friends, and how they travelled to far away planets to rescue native animals before they became extinct and bring them back down to earth for people to look at in a gigantic Zoo. He told Sam about beaches made of purple diamonds, about planets where the only inhabitants were huge crabs with gigantic shears that spent their days eating from enormous cabbages growing everywhere...

He told him about places where everything existed apart from monsters and where all things were possible.

Sam listened, wide eyed, giggling, asking questions that were far too smart for so small a person, and Dean realised he hadn't felt so relaxed in a long while.  
This was where he was supposed to be: In bed with his baby brother, telling him stories that were far-fetched and ridiculous.

Being a normal big brother for a change who didn't have to think about the possibility that their Dad had been drained by vampires.

After a while, Sam became drowsy and began yawning, but when dean tried to end the story, Sam protested, begging him to continue, and Dean did.

Finally Sam fell asleep, the corners of his mouth pulled into a smile, and Dean carefully slipped off the bed and covered Sam with the blanket.

Then he called Dad, as he usually did before he himself went to bed, just to tell him they were okay. He only reached the voice mail, though; but that wasn't unusual.

Dean made sure the door was locked tightly and that the lines of salt around their beds and on the windowsills were unbroken before pulling his own blankets over him.  
He lay in the dark with his eyes open, listening to Sam's regular breathing.

He wasn't worried about Dad. There was no need, his father was fine. He always was.

Dean merely dozed off for a while and woke up at the smallest sound from the outside; feeling more alert with every minute that he tried to sleep. Dad had promised to be back tonight – so where was he? What if he didn't come back this time?

Then finally he heard steps in front of the door and sat bold upright in his bed, his hand under the pillow where he hid his gun. Then he heard a set of keys rattling and the door opened, revealing his father, who stepped in quietly.

Switching on the lights, John took off his jacket before he noticed Dean sitting awake in the bed. Despite being tired and though there was blood on his face and hands, he walked over to Dean and ruffled his hair with a reassuring smile: “Go to sleep now, buddy. I'm here.”

Dean nodded, yawned and lay back.

When John came out of the bathroom towelling his wet hair, Dean was already fast asleep.


	29. Belief

_**Disclaimer:** Nothing in this story is mine._

_**Characters:** Castiel_  
_**Inspired by:** 8x17 'Goodbye Stranger'_  
_**Spoilers for:** 8x17_  
_**Season:** Eight_

_**A/N:** Yeah, I don't even know what this is supposed to be. Been out all day; wrote a long version of this and then decided it was high time I finally wrote a Drabble... so there you go._

* * *

 

**Belief**

_“If you're in there and you can hear me...”_

Really it was Dean's trust in the angel that saved them both.

It was Dean's firm belief that things weren't supposed to be this way that convinced Castiel to stop and reach out for the tablet instead of following orders given to him by Naomi.

Belief can be fierce and all-consuming; and Dean has always believed in one thing above anything else.

Dean always believed most in family – and apparently he considered Castiel to be a part of his.

Dean's strength gave Castiel enough to break free.

You don't kill family.


	30. Together

_**Disclaimer** : For the last time this month: Sadly I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters._

_**Characters** : Dean, Castiel_   
_**Spoilers** **for** : Season 9x03, 11x04_   
_**Season** : 11_   
_**Additional** **tags** : Destiel_

_**A/N:** So here it is, guys, the last chapter of this challenge! Thank you so much for following along, for reading, favouriting, reviewing and generally making me feel like my work is appreciated. Do leave a review today :)_   
_Thanks to all of you! Love you guys!_

* * *

 

**Together**

Time off didn't happen often when it came to Dean Winchester. While Sam was good at unwinding, something he maybe learnt while in Stanford or when he was with Amelia, Dean's thoughts never strayed far from the next hunt or whatever world or life-threatening hazard they were facing just now.

He couldn't really remember when he'd felt relaxed last; when he hadn't been worried about Sam's safety, or his own, or Cas'.

Thinking about down time, Dean considered the possibility that he never really got to experience free time from the moment on in which he carried his baby brother out of their burning home.

Then came the evening when they came back home from a hunt all bruised, sweaty and over all tired and they were greeted by Castiel. He asked if either or both of them wanted to join him watch a new show he'd discovered on Netflix. Sam declined the offer, saying he only wanted to grab a shower and then head off to bed straight away.

Dean had intended to say the same, but Cas' disappointed face made him change his mind. The fact alone that the disappointment was so plain on Cas' usually guarded face made it obvious the angel was in desperate need of some company.

They headed back to Cas' room and in the absence of any other furniture they both sat close together on the angel's bed.

In the first few minutes of watching the show they talked a bit, but then quickly fell silent as the show began becoming ever more complex and thrilling. Despite unexpectedly really enjoying himself, Dean became increasingly bad at stifling his yawns.

When he grabbed his beer from the night stand, he happened to glance in Cas' direction, and his gaze stayed stuck, his weariness suddenly gone.

Dean was used to reading Cas' guarded expressions. He'd been dealing with them for years now; he knew how to interpret even the smallest sign giving away what the angel was feeling – but now emotions were all over Cas' face.  
He was smiling widely, and more crinkles than ever showed around his eyes which were fixed on the screen.  
Dean found that he wasn't interested what was happening on screen, he kept staring at Cas' face, watching the expression that made Castiel appear so much more human than angel.

Dean realised he would very much like to see his friend smile like this more often, and he wondered why it was that he'd never noticed how a smile made Cas' face look gorgeous.

Suddenly Castiel cleared his throat and turned to Dean regarding him with a curious expression.  
Cas raised an eyebrow and said with a hint of amusement strangely tinged with tension: “You did notice the episode ended some minutes ago, Dean, didn't you?”

For some reason, Dean suddenly felt himself like being caught at something forbidden and blushed furiously.

“But you were looking so... distracted just now... I mean you were looking so happy – when exactly... – How about we watch the next one as well?”, he suggested in a feeble attempt to distract Castiel.

Cas' clear blue eyes didn't stray from Dean's face. He gave no answer.

Dean realised that sometime within the last few minutes, they must have shifted towards each other. Now their heads were so close together he could feel Cas' breath on his cheek. He nervously swallowed while he wondered whether he should draw back. A thousand thoughts tried to make themselves heard in his head, but none of them seemed to make any sense.

Dean was confused.

Cas raised his hand and brought it up to Dean's cheek, gently touching it with the tips of his fingers.

Dean felt his breath quicken. Cas moved his fingers downward slowly, his thumb reaching the corner of Dean's mouth, then, slowly, he ran it across Dean's lips and Dean found himself emitting something that sounded like a whimper. Castiel flinched and drew back his hand immediately, looking down.

“I'm sorry”, Castiel whispered, “I don't know what I was thinking.”

Dean wasn't sure what to think either. He was confused, and very much so – but there were two things he was sure of: The first was that he didn't like the way Cas had turned pale and distant the moment he drew back, and the second that he'd actually liked how Cas had touched him.

“Cas...”, Dean said, his voice sounding hoarse through his slightly trembling lips. When Cas didn't respond, Dean reached out and touched Cas' cheek, mirroring the angel's earlier move. He gently forced Castiel to face him before bringing up his second hand as well to cup the other men's face in his hands.

Castiel's blue eyes were fixed on Dean's face again, wide and searching as the men paused, their heads close together.

It was so quiet in the room one could hear a pin drop.

“Dean, I...”

Dean inched closer to Cas and the angel's voice faltered as he, too, leant in. Their lips touched and

Dean was surprised at how readily Cas' lips parted for his tongue. The kiss was slow at first, tender, careful; and Dean still wasn't sure what was going on exactly, still wasn't sure how they had ended up here, Castiel and Dean, here, on Cas' bed, with Dean's hands on Cas' face and his tongue in Cas' mouth; but he found he relished the way the kiss felt.

Then suddenly Cas' hand was in Dean's hair, pulling at the strands, and the kiss became more heated. Being this close wasn't enough anymore, they needed to get closer. Cas seemed to be of the same mind, because he laid back, pulling Dean with him so that the hunter ended up lying on top of him. Dean moved his hands into Cas' hair as well. The strands of hair were so much softer than he had expected.

Cas' fingers slowly moved down either side of Dean's back, and Dean felt goosebumps form all over his body.

Breaking away for air, he opened his eyes.

The smile on Cas' face was back, wide, toothy, creating crinkles around his eyes, his pupil's blown with desire.

Dean pulled back a bit, supporting his weight with his elbows on either side of Cas' body as he asked: “Why didn't you say anything when the show ended?”

Cas' fingers moved from Dean's back to his chest, fumbling with the topmost button on Dean's shirt: “I would have thought you figured that out by now. I knew you were watching me, and it made me very happy. I never expected you would actually ever really look at me that way... I hoped, but...”

Dean felt himself blush furiously as he suddenly realised why Castiel had smiled this new, strange, exciting, gorgeous smile.

“How long have you...”

“Thought about you this way?”, Cas murmured, moving on to the next button. “I don't even know anymore. A while now.”

He averted his eyes from Dean and the hunter knew Cas was lying, so he sat up, straddling him and stopped him from unbuttoning his shirt any further.

Cas gave a frustrated groan.

“How long?”, Dean growled.

“After I slept with April I became aware of certain things I hadn't thought much of before. She taught me things I hadn't known before, things that were... well, should have been obvious even for me but weren't.”

“But that was years ago”, Dean moaned, going over the things that'd happened in the meantime, wondering, realising, considering. Dean stared down at the angel lying underneath him, trying to process what Castiel told him.

“What if I never realised how you felt?”

“I'm an angel of the lord, Dean... I can be very patient.”

Then Cas frowned: “I would've waited for as long as it might take, Dean – just... just tell me you're sure about this. I don't want you to regret any of this come tomorrow morning. I know you humans are easily consumed by passion when you're instincts take over. I don't want this to happen to you. To us.”

“You could make me forget all this”, Dean reminded him softly, tracing Cas' cheekbone with his index finger. Cas caught his hand with his, looking up at him, pleadingly: “I don't want to. I want... you. But I need you to be sure this is what you want.”

Dean whispered, “But what if this isn't what _you_ want?”

Cas smiled again, a bit sadly this time: “I'd never have let you proceed this far if I wasn't sure.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, searching himself. He knew Castiel might be right: Dean needed to be sure. His body, that much was certain, was, and so was Cas', that he could feel. But he shouldn't think about how straddling Cas felt...

Holding back got harder with every moment they talked.

Dean tried to make sense of his confusion, of the various feelings all mixed up inside him. He pushed away passion and need, he ignored fear that something might go wrong, and he tried to sort out what was left.

Long moments passed while Cas' ragged breathing became increasingly unsteady and Dean tried to keep his hips from moving, because if he did, thinking would no longer be possible.

Then a memory resurfaced from somewhere in his mind: The two of them in the Impala. Dean was driving, Cas riding shotgun, balancing a bag of burgers on his lap. Relaxing, coming down from a hunt.  
Dean wasn't even sure anymore what they had talked about, or where they had come from, but he remembered thinking that this felt right: He and Castiel on their way back home. Together. Just the two of them, talking about small things.

Dean had been thinking about this some time without really realizing it. Suddenly a lot of things that had happened recently made a lot more sense to him.

How had he not seen this coming?

Dean opened his eyes again, meeting Castiel's imploring gaze.

“I am sure”, Dean breathed, “I am sure.”

Cas let go of Dean's hand that he'd still been holding and let out a shaky breath that turned into a loud groan because Dean had finally allowed himself to move.

Their lips found each other's again and they began kissing, needy, heated, forceful, determined.

Cas' hands were back in Dean's hair as they moved against each other, and when he groaned Dean's name, his voice unbelievably even deeper than normally, Dean knew he'd been right: He was sure. This was right.  
They were right.

Dean and Castiel, here, tonight, or any other given night as far as Dean was concerned – Together.


End file.
